• 


THREE   GIRLS 
AND  A  HERMIT 


0JE  GAUF.  LSRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


THREE  GIRLS 
AND  A  HERMIT 


By 

DOROTHEA  CONYERS 

Author   of   "The   Strayings   of   Sandy" 

"The  Boy,  some  Horses,  and  the  Girl" 

etc 


NEW  YORK 

E.   P.   DUTTON   AND  COMPANY 
1908 


PRINTED  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   I 

PAGE 

HOW   THE   TRIP   WAS   TALKED   OF          ....  I 

CHAPTER   II 

TREATING   CHIEFLY   OF   YOUNG   HORSES        .  .  1 6 

CHAPTER   III 

BEYOND  THE  PURPLE  HILLS 34 

CHAPTER   IV 

BALLYDARE 5O 

CHAPTER  V 

SOME   SHEEP   AND   OTHER   THINGS        .  .  .  -7* 

CHAPTER  VI 

LIFE  PROVES    DISAPPOINTING 93 

CHAPTER  VII 

THE   FIRST   MEET         .......      Io8 

CHAPTER  VIII 

RETURNING   A   CALL 134 


2126527 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  IX 

PAGE 

A   TRIP   TO   THE   SEA 153 

CHAPTER  X 

CLENNELFORD     .  .  .  •       *  .-  •        .  .  .       I?O 

CHAPTER  XI 

THEATRE-GOING  .       .'.''.  -''-.'.  .  .       182 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE   HIRELINGS   AND   THE   GEOGHANS  .  .  .      204 

CHAPTER  XIII 

A    GAY    AFTERNOON 221 

CHAPTER  XIV 

OF    DEER-HUNTING   AND   THE   HERMIT  .  .  .       242 

CHAPTER  XV 

THE    NIGHT   OF   THE   PARTY          .....*      266 

CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   MEETING    OF   OLD   FRIENDS  ....       292 

CHAPTER  XVII 

HOW   THE   TRIP   SUCCEEDED  .  .  .  .316 


THREE  GIRLS  AND  A  HERMIT 

CHAPTER   I 


L1 


dramatic  emphasis.  "  I  want  to  see  life." 
She  spelt  the  word  mentally  with  a  leaded  capital, 
waving  tanned,  well-shaped  hands  at  the  rugged 
Kerry  landscape,  as  if  to  point  out  that  it  was  a 
mere  rusty  side-track  on  the  world's  great  railway. 
Mountains,  dimly  purple  in  summer's  haze,  framed  the 
picture,  seen  rising  in  majesty  high  above  the  rough 
peaks.  Cones  of  smaller  hills,  crouching,  humble 
subjects,  at  the  monarch's  heels.  A  lake,  the  sky's 
clear  blue  tinting  it,  rippled  to  shore  through  a  belt 
of  rushes,  little  wavelets,  where  the  rushes  ceased, 
mouthing  at  a  pebbly  shore.  A  fuchsia  hedge,  tangle 
of  scarlet  and  green,  edged  the  little  garden,  the  lower 
bells  dropping  on  the  water.  The  west  wind,  blowing 
gently,  brought  with  it  clean  scents  of  heather  and 
peat,  and  a  kiss  of  salt  on  its  breath.  Brooding  over 
all  was  a  peace  such  as  only  Ireland  knows. 

But  the  three  Miss  Considines,  in  the  folly  of  their 
youth,  looked  at  none  of  these  things.  Familiarity 
had  bred  a  bitter  contempt  of  the  lonely  beauty. 
Towering  hill-crests,  boom  of  distant  waves,  lap  of 

I 


2  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

waters,  scent  of  salt  and  heather,  had  been  their  daily 
portion  since,  sixteen  years  before,  they  had  arrived 
at  Borrisdeane,  three  lonely,  blackly  clad  children, 
and  remained  there  ever  since.  Their  father,  an 
improvident  failure,  had  sent  his  children  to  his  sister, 
promised  with  airy  carelessness  to  pay  her,  and  then 
died  himself,  penniless.  Miss  Maria  Considine,  now 
dead,  had  been  of  a  soured  disposition  ;  she  accepted 
her  burden  without  a  murmur,  but  Borrisdeane, 
sufficing  her  outlook,  must  suffice  her  nieces,  and  she 
kept  them  there  without  interval  of  trip  or  change. 
They  recalled  this  now,  forgetting  their  many  hours 
of  happiness  :  the  joys  of  fishing  in  the  hill-locked 
lake,  of  rushing  noisily  to  the  sea  and  wading  deep 
in  the  tumbling  waters,  of  coming  in  hungry  and 
dripping,  to  feast  on  hot  griddle-bread  and  eggs  and 
honey.  Borrisdeane  in  the  last  few  years  had  grown 
to  be  looked  on  in  the  light  of  a  prison  ;  Lake 
Cottage,  their  little  home,  as  a  dungeon  cell.  With 
youth's  careless  ingratitude,  they  had  taken  their  life 
as  a  matter  of  course  ;  never  seen  or  cared,  save  with  a 
laugh  at  stinginess,  how  Aunt  Maria's  black  dresses 
grew  rustier  year  by  year,  how  much  she  denied 
herself  to  clothe  them  in  warm  jerseys  and  blue 
serges,  how  many  times  her  head  ached  when  she 
dragged  herself  to  the  daily  lessons  they  rebelled  at, 
how  her  daily  glass  of  claret  vanished  that  they 
might  have  the  honey  they  loved.  For  Aunt  Maria, 
being  one  of  the  many  who  confuse  religion  with 
intolerance,  and  holiness  with  perpetual  gloom,  had 
never  sought  for  their  love.  Without  a  murmur  she 
had  accepted  their  ingratitude ;  never  breathed  through 
these  years  that  they  were  dependent  on  her  charity, 


How  the  Trip  was  Talked  Of          3 

and  then  passed  suddenly  and  quietly,  before  she 
had  fully  arranged  her  will  with  the  stiff  precision  she 
had  meant  to.  Sudden  heart  failure  had  taken  her 
from  them  one  still  spring  night,  and  the  girls,  left 
in  complete  freedom,  brewed  mischief  long  ere  her 
grave  was  green.  They  had  duly  driven  to  distant 
Tramee,  there  to  lay  in  a  stock  of  mourning  garments 
and  shroud  their  faces  in  veils,  which  to  a  thoughtful 
mind  suggested  eclipses,  but  they  found  it  hard  to 
put  on  sorrow,  and  after  a  short  time  left  off  trying.' 
It  was  later,  when  the  sorrows  of  change  unstrapped 
Biddy's  tongue,  that  they  saw,  and  even  then  dimly, 
all  their  aunt  had  done  for  them. 

Biddy,  the  old-shawled,  check-aproned  servant, 
adored  them  too  deeply  to  say  anything  now.  She 
had  slaved  for  them  without  grudging,  and  kept 
house  now  with  a  stern  refusal  to  try  the  strange  new 
dishes  which  Moira  would  have  had.  Biddy  held 
her  trio  in  check  when  they  would  have  worked 
havoc  in  the  kitchen  ;  but  their  hearts  yearned  for 
change.  Sitting  in  the  garden  or  gathered  round 
the  peat  fire  in  the  chilly  evenings,  their  tongues 
clacked  noisily  as  they  whipped  themselves  on  to  a 
deed  which  savoured,  none  too  faintly,  of  folly.  If 
they  could  live  alone  here,  why  not  elsewhere? 
Mrs.  Desmond,  the  clergyman's  wife,  on  being  con- 
sulted, had  nervously  murmured  there  could  not  be 
much  difference. 

They  were  talking  of  it  now,  and  Biddy  baking 
bread  for  tea,  listened  with  growing  uneasiness. 

Moira,  the  second  girl,  paced  up  and  down  the 
little  garden  talking  loudly,  while  Eva  and  little  quiet 
Kathleen  hung  upon  her  words. 


4  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

From  earliest  childhood  she  had  led  and  they  had 
followed.  Hot-tempered,  self-willed,  possessed  of  an 
over-ready  tongue,  Moira  had  swayed  their  pliant 
natures  to  her  will,  until  she  scarcely  knew  what  it 
was  to  be  thwarted.  -No  one  but  the  Hermit  ever 
questioned  her  decisions,  or  forced  her  to  a  path  she 
did  not  want  to  tread  on. 

It  was  Moira  who  had  taken  them  bathing  with 
all  their  clothes  on,  so  that  they  might  practise  the 
saving  of  life  in  a  common-sense  way,  and  having 
swum  out  of  her  depth  was  unable  to  get  in,  and 
would  have  been  drowned  if  the  Hermit  had  not 
come  for  her  ;  Moira,  who  stole  a  boat  in  half  a  gale 
of  wind  and  fortunately  capsized  her  a  few  yards  from 
the  shore ;  Moira,  whose  ever-active  brain  was  for  ever 
evolving  impossible  hopes  and  ideas,  and  who  now 
was  determined  to  leave  Borrisdeane,  and  lead  her 
sisters  to  fortune.  She  waved  a  pink-covered  weekly, 
lent  by  the  doctor's  wife.  "  Having  sufficient  bread 
and  butter  and  eggs,  and  being  covered  by  black 
serge,  is  not  being  alive,"  she  said  vehemently.  Here 
she  stepped  off  the  path  and  crushed  a  precious 
begonia,  one  of  a  dozen  bought  by  Kathleen  from 
the  proceeds  of  her  bantams.  Kathleen's  wail  of 
dismay  rent  the  air. 

"  We  can  all  ride."  Moira  moved  hastily.  "  Oh, 
Kathleen,  what  is  a  begonia  when  it's  a  question  of 
one's  life  ?  " 

Kathleen,  remarking  that  the  begonia  had  no 
further  interest  in  that  subject,  tenderly  lifted  the 
trodden,  pulpy  stem  with  its  bundle  of  striped  leaf 
and  flaring  blossom,  and  gave  heated  information  as 
to  its  high  cost  of  sixpence. 


How  the  Trip  was  Talked  Of          5 

Moira,  keeping  carefully  in  the  middle  of  the  path, 
denounced  her  sister  as  small-minded,  and  went  on 
with  her  subject. 

"  The  money — the  spare  money — is  ours  to  do  what 
we  like  with,"  she  said.  "  Let  us  do  as  I  have  sug- 
gested. Take  it,  buy  some  young  horses,  and  hunt 
them  in  some  other  place  ;  go  to  balls  and  parties  and 
wear  evening  dresses,  and  live  as  other  girls  do.  Oh  ! 
think  of  it ;  it's  our  only  chance  of" — Moira  had 
the  grace  to  blush — "  of  marrying."  Eva  suddenly 
drooped  her  pretty,  fair  head. 

"  What  is  to  happen  to  us  here  ?  "  demanded  Moira. 
"Just  to  drift  from  year  to  year  until  we  take  to 
bonnets  and  beaded  mantles  and  to  feeling  the 
chickens'  breasts  to  see  if  they  are  fat  enough  to 
kill,  as  old  Miss  O'Brien  does." 

This  tragic  flight  of  fancy  carried  weight.  There 
was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  gentle  lapping  of  the 
lake,  in  the  little  garden.  Eva,  the  eldest  girl,  frowned 
indecisively,  looked  at  one  of  Biddy's  chickens  roosting 
outside,  and  sighed. 

She  and  Kathleen  were  fair-skinned  and  fair-haired, 
one  tall,  and  the  other  slight  and  very  short,  with 
gentle,  reserved  voices  and  quiet  blue  eyes.  Moira 
was  auburn-haired,  grey-eyed,  of  restless  energy,  with 
a  red  mouth  which  curled  into  hidden  smiles  or 
drooped  to  deepest  dejection  in  almost  childish 
transparency.  She  wearied  of  Borrisdeane.  Her 
mind,  fed  by  weekly  periodicals,  aspired  to  going 
forth  clad  in  some  of  the  wondrous  garments  she 
read  of  in  Society  Scannings  and  other  journals  treating 
of  the  great  world.  Also,  she  wanted  even  more  than 
this  to  hunt.  With  a  sweeping  belief  that  everything 


6  Three  Girls  and  §  Hermit 

must  be  as  she  wanted  it,  Moira  Considine  felt  certain 
that  the  rest  of  the  world  would  be  a  spirited  com- 
bination of  lawn  meets  and  church  parades,  chiffon 
frocks  and  young  men. 

"  It's  not — it's  not  as  if  it  would  cost  money,"  Moira 
spoke  breathlessly.  "  But  we  can  really  live  for 
nothing.  I  was  at  the  forge  yesterday,  and  Martin 
Hallinan  told  me  one  could  make  fortunes  of  selling 
young  horses.  His  aunt's  second  cousin  sold  one  for 
thirty  pounds  to  a  dealer,  and  saw  him  two  years 
after  in  the  ring  at  the  Dublin  Horse  Show,  and  they 
were  asking  " — Moira's  voice  dropped  to  awed  tones— 
"  eighty  pounds." 

Here  Kathleen,  who  regretted  her  flowers,  was 
unkind  enough  to  inquire  whether  the  dealer  or 
the  horse  had  been  on  sale  in  Dublin,  and  quailed 
before  her  sister's  withering  glance. 

"  Some  people,"  said  Moira  icily,  "  seem  to  be 
devoid  of  understanding ;  and  there  is  Martin 
Hallinar.  Ask  him  if  it's  true." 

Martin  Hallinan,  a  burly  red -bearded  giant,  paused 
to  wish  them  a  shy  "good  evening."  As  Moira's  breath- 
less interrogations  were  hurled  upon  him  he  removed 
his  hat  and  scratched  his  head  with  deliberation. 

"  Sorra  a  lie  in  it,"  he  said  stoutly,  "  an'  it's  a 
matter  well  known  that  there's  money  in  the  horses. 
I  saw  the  horse  meself  many  times  drawing  turf  from 
the  deep  bog.  A  big  camel  of  a  baste  he  was,  but 
Mullady  bought  him  and  gave  up  to  thirty  pound. 
And  when  me  aunt's  second  cousin,  that  went  groom 
to  Captain  Casey,  was  up  in  Dublin,  didn't  he  see  the 
grey,  fat  and  shinin',  and  he  ambling  round  the  ring 
as  if  he  nivir  saw  turf? 


How  the  Trip  was  Talked  Of          7 

" '  Hi !  grey  horse,'  says  me  aunt's  cousin,  says  he 
('that's,'  says  he,  'the  way  to  speak  to  thim).  Did  you 
get  a  prize  ? '  says  he,  the  sight  nearly  to  leave  his 
eyes  looking  at  the  grey  and  the  way  he  was  changed. 

" '  I  did  not,'  says  the  man  that  was  riding.  '  I  did 
not.  Don't  ye  know,'  says  he,  sour-like,  'that  the  besht 
horses  gets  no  prizes,  but  thim  with  dandy  legs  and 
heads,  steppin'  like  common  roadsthers,  or  thfm,'  says 
he,  dark  like, '  that  has  frinds  in  court'  Mike,  that's 
me  aunt's  cousin,  said  nothin',  havin'  got  two  prizes 
himself.  '  An'  what,'  says  he,  '  would  you  be  asking 
for  that  grey  horse?'  and  he  ran  his  eye  down  the 
hindmosht  leg,  where  he  knew  he'd  see  the  bump  that 
the  grey  got  kicking  the  cart  to  bits  one  day  he  was 
too  lightsome. 

-...'UJfhat's  no  curb,  but  a  knock  he  got  av  win  in 
Kildare,'  says  the  man  on  the  grey,  sharp-like,  '  an' 
I'm  asking  a  hundred,'  says  he,  'just  to  make  a  quick 
sale.' 

" '  God  Almighty  sind  you  it,'  says  Mike,  says 
he ;  an'  shure  if  that's  not  making  money,  miss, 
what  is?" 

"  You  see,"  cried  Moira  eagerly  to  her  listening 
sisters. 

"  Asking,"  said  a  gentle  voice,  "  is  not  always 
receiving." 

Unheard  oars  had  come  sweeping  across  the  lake 
and  a  boat  been  moored  to  the  rough  stones  which 
did  duty  for  a  pier. 

"  Oh  I  you,"  cried  Moira  ;  "  you  always  scoff." 

"  But  it's  true,"  said  the  newcomer  simply. 

Martin  Hallinan  scratched  the  other  side  of  his  head 
and  induced  a  new  vein  of  thought. 


8  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Begob,"  he  said,  "  an'  it  is.  Didn't  I  ask  twinty 
pound  for  eight  months  for  a  cob  I  had  ?  Divil  a 
ha'porth  wrong  with  him  but  a  stiffness  in  his  fore- 
most legs  ;  that  was  more  play  actin'  than  anythin' 
else,  for  a  belt  of  a  stick'd  make  him  sound.  An'  didn't 
I  take  three  pound  fifteen  for  him  in  the  tail  of  the 
string  ?  "  he  concluded  dolefully.  "  But  there's  money 
in  the  horses  all  the  time,"  he  added,  catching  Moira's 
fiery  eye.  "  Many  a  one  here  under  a  cyar  that  ye'd 
sell  aisy."  Here  he  said  good  evening,  and  walked  on. 

The  girls,  thought  upon  their  faces,  watched  him  go 
down  the  narrow  fuchsia-bordered  road. 

"  And  you,  Hermit,  have  some  tea,"  said  Eva 
hospitably. 

Old  Biddy  was  bringing  out  a  table,  laying  a  worn 
white  cloth. 

The  newcomer  was  a  man  with  a  quiet  face,  tired 
blue  eyes,  and  a  sad  mouth.  To  the  rest  of  the 
world  he  was  Oliver  Tremayne  ;  to  the  Considine 
girls  he  was  the  Hermit.  He  had  taken  Borrisdeane 
House,  a  great  rambling  place  just  across  the  lake, 
and  lived  there  alone,  never  going  away,  shooting  in 
winter,  fishing  in  summer,  riding  at  all  times.  At 
first  he  had  declined  all  society ;  but  Moira,  when  a 
romping,  long-legged  child,  had  made  her  way  beyond 
his  gates  and  into  his  life.  He  had  taught  her  how 
to  fish,  taken  her  for  rapturous  days  out  upon  the 
lake,  when  with  thumping  heart  one  watched  the  fly 
drop  on  the  water,  and  with  a  shout  of  ecstasy  felt 
the  rod's  point  bend,  heard  the  reel's  harsh  whirr  of 
triumph,  and  played  a  big  lake  trout ;  for  other  days, 
upon  the  heaving  sea,  with  long  lines  coming  dripping 
aboard.  He  had  walked  with  her  through  his  tangled 


How  the  Trip  was  Talked  Of          9 

overgrown  woods,  teaching  her  the  lore  of  bird  and 
beast. 

Now  that  Moira  had  grown  up  they  quarrelled  ;  his 
gentle  voice  cut  across  her  extravagant  dreams  ;  his 
quiet  contradictions  were  generally  right,  and  Moira, 
the  woman,  scoffed  and  wrangled  with  her  childhood's 
friend. 

He  came  with  an  easy  slouch,  which  was  something 
apart  from  the  hasty  stride  of  the  Borrisdeane  youths, 
pushing  his  way  through  a  gap  in  the  hedge,  where 
blackberries,  purple  and  green,  hung  about  the  crimson 
fuchsias.  A  sparkle  of  humour,  which  no  sadness 
could  subdue,  lay  behind  eyes  and  mouth.  He 
stopped  still,  as  Moira,  fresh  eyed  and  sunny  haired, 
turned  to  greet  him.  With  some  asperity  she  asked 
him  what  he  looked  at. 

"  The  sunshine,  Moira,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  It's  behind  you,"  said  Moira  sharply,  pointing  to 
the  glowing  west. 

"  Sometimes  I  hope  that  there  is  still  some  in 
front  of  me,"  he  said,  and  sat  down,  still  looking 
at  her. 

Biddy,  helped  by  the  elder  girls,  had  laid  their  tea — 
smoking  griddle-bread,  pats  of  golden  butter,  a  square 
of  honey,  and  a  nest  of  fresh-laid  eggs  ;  for  the  Miss 
Considines,  being  economical,  would  take  nothing 
more  except  milk  and  biscuits  before  bedtime. 

They  knew  him  too  well  to  cease  their  discussion  ; 
it  rattled  on  over  steaming  strong  tea  and  hot  but- 
tered cakes,  and  the  Hermit,  his  face  very  thoughtful, 
listened  to  their  wondrous  plans. 

"  But  have  you  no  people  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  friends  of 
your  father's,  whom  you  could  visit  ?  " 


io  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Aunt  Jane  has  written  to  us."  Eva  took  a  letter 
from  her  pocket 

"  Aunt  Jane,  who  never  even  sent  us  a  Christmas 
card,  is  troubled  for  our  immortal  souls.  The  un- 
married Considines  are  over-worried  by  religion." 
Moira  tweaked  the  letter  from  Eva's  fingers,  and 
spread  the  thin,  black-edged  sheets  upon  her  knee. 
"  Aunt  Jane  says  that  unless  we  exist  upon  potatoes 
and  bread  we  cannot  possibly  live  upon  our  income 
here ;  but  that  she,  being  our  late  father's  sister, 
will  interest  herself  to  provide  us  with  some  suitable 
employments.  Our  lack  of  education  and  accomplish- 
ments is,  of  course,  a  great  drawback.  But  one 
might  qualify  as  a  lady  nurse  to  little  children — it  is 
a  nice  womanly  employment ;  and  then  for  another — 
if  we  know  anything — she  thinks  Mrs.  Halford,  the 
rector's  wife,  would  receive  the  eldest  as  nursery 
governess  to  their  little  girls.  No  salary,  but  laundry 
and  a  liberal  table.  Three  young  women  could  not 
live  alone  in  the  wilds  of  Kerry,  especially  in  such  dire 
poverty.  So  much  for  our  relations,  who  would  have 
me  call  the  butlers  '  Mister,'  "  laughed  Moira.  "  Shall 
we  ask  Aunt  Jane  to  stay,  and  show  her  how  chickens 
and  ducks  and  boiled  eggs  are  permissible  upon  our 
income  if  we  stayed  here?  But  we  must  try  our 
fortune.  We'll  not  stay."  She  sharply  asked  Eva 
what  she  was  thinking  of. 

"  It  was  only  if  we  did  not  sell  the  horses  you  are 
going  to  buy  ;  if  we  came  back  failures,"  said  thought- 
ful Eva. 

"  Yes,  if  they  were  not  sold,"  said  the  Hermit.  He 
had  removed  Aunt  Jane's  letter  from  the  table  and  torn 
it  wrathfully  to  little  pieces,  his  blue  eyes  growing  hard. 


How  the  Trip  was  Talked  Of        n 

Moira  declared  volubly  that  it  was  as  easy  as  easy  to 
sell.  You  bought  horses  in  the  rough,  you  trained  and 
rode  and  showed  them  off,  and  then  sold  for  fabulous 
profits.  Why,  people  lived  by  it.  She  splashed  hot 
water  into  the  teapot  with  a  vigour  which  induced 
the  Hermit  to  remove  his  legs  from  danger,  and  old 
Biddy  to  cry,  "  Have  a  care,  Miss  Moira,  astore,"  from 
the  kitchen  window.  "  I  have  a  fresh  kittle  on  the 
boil  if  ye  want  more,"  she  added,  thrusting  her 
wrinkled  old  face  into  the  sunshine.  "  An'  Miss  Eva's 
March-hatched  Howdang  is  afther  laying  an  egg." 

Moira  took  the  teapot  in,  and  the  others  were 
silent,  thinking.  Aunt  Maria,  quietly  generous  in 
death  as  in  life,  had  left  them  all  she  had.  An  income 
of  two  hundred  pounds  a  year  to  be  shared  equally, 
and  savings,  gathered  before  the  hungry  baby  mouths 
came  to  be  filled,  amounting  to  eight  hundred  pounds. 
Now  what  they  thought  of  doing  was  leaving  the 
cottage,  using  this  loose  capital,  and  going  to  some 
hunting  country  for  the  winter,  some  spot  where  they 
could  ride  hard,  live  in  a  pictured  whirl  of  gaiety, 
and  pay  for  all  this  fun  by  selling  their  horses  at  the 
end  of  the  season  for  enormous  sums.  Had  not  Martin 
Hallinan  given  an  instance  of  one  animal  bought 
but  ten  miles  away,  which  had  found  its  way  to  the 
great  Dublin  Horse  Show  ?  There  were  other  colts 
drawing  turf  from  the  deep  bog ;  there  were  long- 
tailed  youngsters.  But  it  was  a  momentous  question, 
for  eight  hundred  pounds,  once  spent,  was  not  to  be 
recalled.  Eva,  the  eldest,  hesitated. 

Moira  returned  with  fresh  tea,  with  fresher  argu- 
ments and  ideas.  She  wove  a  tinselled,  flimsy  web  of 
hope  and  folly,  until  Eva  and  Kathleen  went  away — 


12  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

one  to  work  in  the  tiny  gardens  which  supplied  them 
with  fruit  and  vegetables,  the  other  to  help  Biddy  in 
the  kitchen,  from  which,  as  the  old  woman  came  near 
the  window,  heated  words  could  be  heard. 

"  Childer's  talk  and  nonsense,  Miss  Eva,  an'  me 
chickens  all  to  be  left  behind,  an'  the  garding  idle. 

Oh !  I  tell  ye "  the  next  was  lost  in  a  clatter  of 

pots  and  pans. 

So  far  Oliver  Tremayne  had  said  nothing.  He 
was,  in  fact,  amazed  and  shocked  at  this  new  idea, 
suddenly  sprung  upon  him. 

"  Well  ? "  Moira  was  more  uneasy  at  his  silence 
than  she  would  have  cared  to  own  to.  "  And  you. 
What  do  you  think  of  it  ? " 

"It  sounds — pretty,"  he  said,  laying  down  his 
cup,  and  looking  straight  into  her  starry,  hopeful 
eyes. 

"  We  should  be  away  for  months  ;  see  people  ;  be 
in  the  world.  It  would  give  us  a  chance." 

"  Of  what  ? "  he  asked  quietly,  looking  at  her  level 
brows  and  wilful  mouth. 

"Of  marrying,"  said  Moira  boldly.  She  was  not 
shy  with  him.  "  Suppose  we  remain  and  exist  here. 
Who  can  we  meet  ?  We  do  not  want  to  grow  into 
old  maids  of  Lee.  And  there  are  no  men  here." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  he  said,  a  twinkle  growing  in 
his  eyes. 

"  But  I  suppose  you  never  thought  of  that  ? "  said 
Moira  sharply. 

"  Of  your  marrying  ?  Strange  to  say,  I  have,"  he 
answered  ;  the  twinkle  had  died  now,  his  eyes  were 
very  tired  again.  "  Yet  men  do  come  here.  They 
come  to  fish.  There  was  Carstairs  last  year." 


How  the  Trip  was  Talked  Of        13 

"  Who  has  never  written  to  Eva  since  then.  And 
she  has  felt  it  bitterly." 

"  Carstairs  will  come  back,"  he  answered.  "  Also 
there  are  men  in  your  great  world  who  might  not 
write  either.  In  his  case  there  is,  I  feel  sure,  an 
excuse." 

"  And  then  his  idea  was  to  take  Catermere  and  live 
here,  in  these  wilds,  for  the  summer,"  burst  out  Moira, 
in  swift  contempt. 

"  Surely  one  might  do  worse,"  he  said  wistfully. 
He  looked,  waving  his  hand,  at  the  swell  of  the  purple 
hills,  golden  lights  astray  upon  their  sides  ;  at  the 
stretch  of  bog,  yellow-grassed  and  deep-pooled  ;  at 
the  ripple  of  waters  seen  through  the  scarlet-dappled 
hedge.  The  sea's  kiss  came  on  the  wooing  wind  ;  the 
hum  of  the  Atlantic,  beating  on  a  pebbly  beach,  could 
be  plainly  heard  :  Ireland — a  mysterious,  capricious 
woman,  showing  all  her  lonely  loveliness.  "  One 
might  do  worse,"  he  said  again,  his  blue  eyes  cloud- 
ing— "  much  worse.  You've  loved  it  yourself,  Moira, 
in  the  summers  when  you  fished  with  me.  Moira,  if 
you  knew.  Eyes  and  ears,  aye,  and  hearts,  ache  in 
the  blaze  and  glare  beyond  those  hills.  Here  a  man 
may  learn  peace." 

Moira  sniffed  in  youthful  contempt  Peace  was  for 
old  men  and  hermits  ;  life  for  young  bodies  and 
throbbing,  hopeful  hearts.  She  wanted  to  take  it  up 
in  both  hands,  to  bathe  herself  in  the  excitement  she 
had  never  known,  to  dance  and  flirt  and  make  merry. 
Yet,  looking  at  the  Hermit's  face,  misgiving  touched 
her,  so  much  so  that  she  grew  angry. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  she  questioned,  as 
Eva  and  Kathleen  came  back.  "  Don't  you  think  it's 


14  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

all  a  splendid  idea  ?  "  And  her  eyes  flashed  menace 
of  warning  and  softness  of  entreaty.  She  wanted 
support.  Eva  placed  some  foolish  reliance  on  the 
Hermit's  opinion. 

"  Yes.  What  do  you  think  of  it  now  Moira  has 
told  you  of  her  idea  ? "  asked  Eva  slowly. 

"  To  leave  this  place ;  to  take  out  your  capital ;  for 
you  three,  living  alone,  to  attempt  to  buy  and  sell 
horses  with  some  idea  of  making  them  pay  ?  "  Oliver 
Tremayne  looked  Moira  straight  in  the  face  and 
showed  himself  no  coward.  "  I  think  I  never  heard 
of  such  a  piece  of  childish  folly  in  my  life,"  he  said 
emphatically. 

"  God's  blessing  on  ye  for  that  same  word,"  said 
Biddy,  as  she  removed  the  tray. 

The  Hermit  faced  Moira's  kindling  cheeks  and  eyes, 
and,  with  an  eloquence  rare  for  him,  talked  on. 

Horses,  even  those  bought  by  experts,  went  wrong. 
Supposing  this  happened,  they  would  only  return  at 
the  end  of  a  few  wasted  months,  poorer  and  dissatisfied 
with  everything.  To  come  back  at  war  with  the  world 
when  they  might  remain,  and  in  remaining,  never 
know  what  fortune  would  knock  at  their  doors. 

He  saw  Eva's  eyes  light,  and  knew  that  she  under- 
stood his  meaning. 

"  Also,  you  spoke  of  riding  " — here  he  was  brutally 
candid — "  but  galloping  about  on  the  postman's  pony 
and  the  smith's  play-actin'  cob  is  not  quite  the  same 
thing  as  the  hunting  of  impetuous  young  horses  over 
a  strange  country.  The  world " 

"  Has  changed  since  your  day,"  stormed  Moira,  now 
actively  furious. 

"It  changes  little,"  he  said,  with  a  sadness  which 


How  the  Trip  was  Talked  Of        15 

made  Moira  ashamed.  "  Certainly  not  enough  to 
allow  three  pretty  girls  to  live  alone  in  it." 

Moira  declared  hotly  that  three  girls  could  live 
alone  anywhere.  She  saw  her  sisters'  faces,  and 
realised  that  her  house  of  cards  quivered.  With 
rapid  tongue  and  sharpened  voice  she  declared  that 
she  had  read  so  in  The  Ladies'  Illustrated,  and  could 
not  see  what  the  Hermit  could  know  of  society  and 
hunting. 

The  Hermit,  very  gravely,  said  that  perhaps  he  had 
read  a  man's  Illustrated.  Also,  that  he  supposed  they 
had  really  made  up  their  minds. 

Moira  hoped  they  had,  and  that  they  would  show 
him  how  wrong  he  was.  But  her  voice  trembled  as 
she  spoke. 

"  I  hope,"  said  the  Hermit,  "  that  you  may."  He 
got  up  slowly,  with  a  troubled  look  on  his  face,  for  all 
this  was  new  to  him.  Moira  generally  saw  him  to 
his  boat.  To-day  he  was  allowed  to  go  alone.  He 
pulled  away  with  a  long,  easy  stroke,  looking  young 
and  supple  as  he  bent  to  his  oars  ;  the  lulling  cluck 
of  the  rowlocks,  the  gentle  splash  of  the  blades  died 
away ;  the  boat,  black  against  the  evening  glow, 
slipped  to  the  wooded  shore  opposite. 

Moira  had  been  too  angry  even  to  say  good-bye, 
for  her  sisters  were  plainly  impressed  ;  but  later,  over 
milk  and  oatmeal  biscuits,  she  had  her  way,  and  her 
sisters  agreed  to  do  as  she  wished. 


CHAPTER  II 

TREATING  CHIEFLY  OF  YOUNG  HORSES 

I  PRESUME,"  said  the  Hermit  quietly,  "that 
nothing  will  induce  you  to  change  your 
minds." 

"  Nothing,"  said  Moira  stoutly. 

She  had  pulled  the  boat  across  the  lake.  Despite 
their  quarrels,  it  seemed  natural  to  come  first  to  him 
with  their  plans  :  how  Eva  and  Kathleen  had  con- 
sented, how  the  money  had  been  lodged  in  the  bank, 
and  how  Martin  Hallinan  and  Jamesey  Casey  and 
Father  Magee  had  pledged  themselves  to  scour  all 
Kerry,  to  send  word  across  bog  and  up  mountain. 
Horses  worth  being  taken  away  should  arrive  to  be 
bought.  Hallinan  had  promised  to  "  pass  a  note  by 
posht  to  sundry  cousins,"  for,  oh  surely  there  were 
great  horses  about ! 

Moira  and  the  Hermit  stood  at  a  gate  opening  into 
Borrisdeane  woods.  Sunshine  made  the  mossy 
ground  a  trellis-work  of  silver  and  green ;  the 
branches,  arched  and  twisted,  a  canopy  above  their 
heads.  Great  beeches,  straight  firs,  slender  larch, 
coarse  sturdy  elm,  lacing  and  twining,  too  free 
from  axe  and  saw,  and  through  every  gap  shone  a 
glimmer  of  grey  waters.  Rabbits  darted  to  and  fro 
to  their  homes  in  the  sandy  bank.  The  air  was  full 
of  the  songs  of  little  birds.  At  the  far  end  of  the 

16 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses      17 

wood  the  trees  were  stunted,  bent  by  the  force  of  the 
gales  in  winter  when  they  rushed  over  the  rise  beyond 
the  lake.  Then  the  Atlantic  spoke  in  tones  of  thunder, 
lashing  at  the  cliffs,  rolling  the  pebbles  up  and  down 
as  it  foamed,  tempest  driven,  to  the  road's  edge.  To- 
day its  voice  was  a  distant,  soft-voiced  chant,  lulling 
tired  nerves  to  rest. 

"  Will  you  miss  it  sometimes,  I  wonder  ?  "  said  the 
Hermit.  He  looked  first  at  the  wood,  then  at  the 
girl  by  his  side.  "  The  sea  calls  one,  Moira,  when  one 
has  lived  near  it.  Will  you  miss  anything  here  ?  " 

Moira  made  an  extremely  vulgar  remark,  which 
alluded  to  missing  her  grandmamma. 

She  was  just  longing  to  get  away.  To  go  to  balls — 
she  had  never  worn  an  evening  gown.  She  slid  a 
bare  arm  from  her  loose  sleeve  and  considered  dis- 
passionately that  it  would  do.  "Go,  get  into  the 
world,  the  wonderful,  unknown  world." 

They  were  very  pretty  and  young,  these  girls  :  it 
was  not  strange  that  they  should  want  to  go  away. 
Yet  Tremayne's  eyes,  now  fixed  again  on  the  silver 
tumble  of  light  and  shade,  were  very  thoughtful. 
The  world  could  proffer  a  golden  cup  full  of  sparkling  * 
wine  ;  here  one  must  be  content  with  cold  still  water. 

"  Money,"  he  said,  "  does  not  go  so  very  far  in  gay 
places.  Dances,  theatres,  good  grooms,  and  dear 
forage  eat  it  up.  Where  have  you  decided  on  ?  " 

Moira  became  voluble  again.  She  perched  upon 
the  gate,  swinging  her  slender,  stoutly  shod  feet.  She 
had  read  in  many  papers.  She  had  thought  and 
wondered,  of  course  Eva  and  Kathleen  also,  but 
Moira's  tone  seemed  to  imply  that  their  thoughts 
were  of  little  account.  "  And  she — that  is,  they — had 

2 


1 8  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

decided,  had  even  written  to  a  house  agent  and 
awaited  his  reply.  There  was  hunting,  there  were 
soldiers,  she  had  read  in  Dublin  Society  of  balls  and 
parties,  so  they  were  going  to— a  place  called — Bally- 
dare."  Moira,  her  golden  visions  rising  and  dazzling 
her,  drew  a  choked  breath  :  she  hardly  knew  what 
wonders  she  expected  ;  the  Hermit,  turning  aside, 
also  choked  with  an  appalling  suddenness,  spluttering 
sounds  issued  from  beyond  his  shaking  neck,  and 
when  Moira,  rushing  round,  beheld  his  face,  his  eyes 
were  full  of  water.  "  A  fly>  I  think,"  he  said  weakly. 
"  Do — don't  look,  Moira,"  and  wheeling  he  choked 
anew. 

Moira,  making  severe  remarks  as  to  the  folly  of 
using  open  mouths  as  fly  traps,  waited  for  his  recovery. 
It  came  slowly. 

"  To — Ballydare — to  see  the  world,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  So  you  settled  on  that,  Moira.  Oh  there'll  be 
dances  there,  of  course,  and  hunting ;  but,  faith,  I 
thought  you  meant  Melton  at  least,  or,  choosing 
Ireland,  somewhere  near  Kildare." 

Moira  reft  some  newspaper  cuttings  from  her 
pocket,  and  having  requested  the  Hermit  to  choke 
no  more,  she  read  extracts  in  awed  tones.  "  Lady 
Evelyn  Balcoyle  wore  black  satin  and  diamonds  " — 
it  was  an  account  of  a  ball—"  Lady  Buller  green 
chiffon,  the  Misses  Reidy  all  in  white,  with  different 
coloured  sashes." 

The  Hermit  heard  it  patiently,  and  choked  no 
more,  but  checked  with  an  effort  some  comments 
he  seemed  anxious  to  make. 

"  Go,  see  your  world,"  he  said  at  last.  "  There  were 
one  or  two  things  I  meant  to  say  to  you,  Moira,  but 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses      19 

they  must  wait  now  until  you  judge  between  Ballydare 
and  Borrisdeane." 

"  As  if  any  one  could  compare  them,"  said  Moira 
with  scorn. 

The  Hermit  thought  politely  that  they  could  not, 
and  suggested  tea.  As  Moira  swung  from  the  gate 
she  looked  again  at  the  wood,  and  the  misgivings  of 
yesterday  tore  at  her  heart,  checking  her  fancy's  gallop 
with  a  sudden  curb  of  pain  ;  something,  she  could  not 
tell  what,  which  ruffled  her  to  anger.  Who  could 
regret  the  woods,  with  all  the  world  in  front? 

Borrisdeane  House,  long  and  rambling,  stood  clear 
cut  in  the  sunshine*  Ireland's  artists  were  not  given 
to  beauty  of  outline,  but  they  had  spared  Borrisdeane 
the  square  heaviness  of  its  contemporaries,  and  built 
out  straggling  wings  to  either  side.  The  house  faced 
the  lake,  the  lawn  sloping  to  the  water.  Crimson 
gladioli  flamed  in  the  flower  beds,  mixed  with  a  tangle 
of  mignonette,  for  the  Hermit  loved  its  scent.  A 
wide  border  was  ablaze  with  August  flowers ;  the 
place  was  neither  trim  nor  neglected. 

The  Hermit  lived  in  one  wing,  using  a  bay-windowed 
wide  room  for  his  own.  Here,  among  precious  pieces 
of  Sheraton,  and  out  of  quaintly  flowered  cups,  they 
took  tea.  Moira  often  wondered  why  no  other  room 
had  such  colourings,  such  blending  of  Persian  rugs 
and  deep  gleam  of  beeswaxed  boards,  such  soft 
background  for  many  coloured  prints  ;  thought  and 
despised  a  little,  thinking  loftily  that  men's  should  be 
like  young  Desmond's  of  the  Rectory — a  mixture  of 
muddy  boots,  rods,  guns,  and  discomfort. 

A  table  was  laid  for  tea.  Old  Lowestoft  cups  on  a 
fine  white  cloth,  glistening  silver,  a  copper  kettle  and 


2O  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

plain  brown  teapot.  There  were  photographs  about 
among  the  books,  sun-pictures  which  Moira  had  often 
studied,  of  girls  in  habits  and  ball  dresses,  and  a  few 
men's  faces  simpering  in  the  set  misery  of  being 
taken.  "There  is  no  doubt  about  it,"  said  the  Hermit, 
as  he  rang  the  bell  and  lighted  the  spirit  lamp  beneath 
the  shining  kettle,  "  that  your  aunt,  with  her  tiny 
income,  was  a  marvellous  woman  to  have  saved 
anything." 

"But  look  how  we  lived,"  said  Moira  con- 
temptuously. 

A  sudden  steeliness  hardened  Oliver  Tremayne's 
blue  eyes  ;  he  spooned  tea  out  of  an  inlaid  caddy, 
and  then  turned,  looking  hard  at  Moira.  "  Can  you 
ever  remember  being  hungry  ?  "  he  asked  very  quietly, 
"  or  cold,  or  badly  dressed  ?  Youth,  after  all,  is  very 
like  a  quicksand,  sucking  down  all  it  touches." 

The  first  twinge  of  the  doubt  which  was  eventually 
to  be  Aunt  Maria's  reward  assailed  Moira's  mind. 
She  had  never  thought  of  the  necessity  of  being 
grateful.  It  had  been  natural  to  be  fed  and  clothed 
and  looked  after,  and  they  had  never  paused  to 
consider  that  their  aunt  had  kept  them  all.  She  was 
silent  while  the  Hermit's  man  carried  in  bread  and 
butter  and  hot  cakes.  James,  a  native  of  the  village, 
was  a  sacrifice  to  civilisation,  wearing  sober  black 
clothes,  and  padding  on  his  toes,  that  he  might  go 
softly — an  accomplishment  which  had  been  attained 
with  great  difficulty. 

"  We  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  Aunt  Maria," 
shot  out  Moira,  angry  with  herself.  "  For  now,  through 
her,  we  can  get  away  from  this  hole  " — she  waved  her 
hand  towards  the  tangle  of  boughs  and  sheen  of 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses      21 

rippling  waters — "  where  there  is  no  one  to  know,  and 
where  nothing  ever  happens." 

James's  manner  as  he  laid  down  the  cakes  was 
fraught  with  importance.  He  too  pointed  outwards. 
"  There's  a  strange  mothor  afther  going  up  the  road, 
and  Mikey  Maher's  ass  is  in  the  ditch,"  he  said 
pleasantly. 

"  Now,  who  shall  say,"  said  the  Hermit,  "  that 
nothing  happens  at  Borrisdeane  ?  " 

"  I  was  below,  an'  begob  she  to  make  off  like  a 
sthreak  of  fire,"  went  on  James.  "  I  think,  sir, 
Maher's  mother's  like  to  be  dead.  We  can  hear  the 
schreeches  of  her  up  here.  For  she  rowled  over,  an' 
the  ass,  bein'  young  and  confused  like,  bit  her  ...  in 
the  leg.  I'll  get  the  crame,  sir."  He  went  out 
noiselessly,  as  a  well-trained  servant  should. 

Long  wails,  rendered  thin  by  distance,  wafted  from 
the  road  below  the  wood. 

James,  very  much  excited,  reappeared  with  a  jug  of 
cream.  "  There's  the  divil's  own  danger  in  mothers," 
he  told  his  master.  "  But  lasht  Thursday  six  weeks 
one  druv  over  a  duck  by  Guinane's  public.  J  declare 
to  God  ye'd  be  afther  one  ov  thim  birds  with  a  horse- 
trap  for  a  year  an'  ye  couldn't  manage  that  same. 
Bit  the  head  off  as  clane  as  a  fox  would — so  it  did. 
If  you  don't  want  me,  sir,  I'll  go  down  to  help  Katey 
Maher  up "  ;  he  went  rapidly,  skimming  across  the 
flower  beds  in  his  decorous  black  clothes. 

"  If  I  were  to  pay  a  thousand  a  year  in  the  world, 
I  could  not  find  a  James,"  said  the  Hermit,  laughing 
unrestrainedly.  "  He  walks  like  a  cat  and  looks  like 
a  butler,  but  he  is  James  Magee  behind  it  all.  He's 
bringing  the  woman  back." 


22  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Mrs.  Maher,  limping  and  calling  down  curses  on  all 
motors,  was  being  assisted  to  the  kitchen.  The 
donkey,  very  dusty  and  dejected,  was  led  behind. 

The  Hermit  went  out  to  ask  for  particulars,  and  to 
reproach  the  donkey. 

Mike  Maher  refuted  the  reproach  with  indignation, 
"  the  poor  innicent  animal  that  didn't  know  what  he 
was  doin'.  Into  the  ditch  her  ran  with  the  dinth  of 
terror,  and  me  mamma,  makin'  half  a  kind  of  lep, 
rowled  out  undther  his  head.  Sure,  may  be  he  thought 
'twas  the  mother  cyar  that  he  herd  whin  he  got  her 
undther  his  lip,  an*  where — he  had  to  catch  her — I 
tell  yer  honour — she'll  not  rest " 

The  Hermit  retreated  hastily.  From  what  he 
gathered,  it  would  be  some  days  before  Mike  Maher's 
mother  would  sit  with  ease. 

Moira  had  left  her  tea  and  risen  to  wander  round 
the  room.  An  old  desk  stood  open  on  the  table ; 
a  shabby  walnut  thing  such  as  schoolboys  use,  and  on 
the  frayed  velvet  lay  a  girl's  photograph.  Moira 
stopped  to  stare.  The  draped  skirts  and  frizzy  fringe 
were  the  fashions  of  twenty  years  before  :  the  girl 
herself  was  splendidly  handsome,  cold  featured,  with 
rounded  naked  arms.  She  seemed  to  stare  out 
haughtily,  almost  repellent,  in  the  full  knowledge  of 
her  beauty,  looking  where  the  photographer  had 
asked  her  to,  as  if  disdaining  his  efforts  to  do  her 
justice.  On  the  right-hand  corner  was  a  blackly 
written  V,  "  What  a  lovely  face  ! "  Moira  picked  the 
photograph  up  ;  the  Hermit,  turning,  caught  his  breath 
sharply.  "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  An  old  love.  A  dead  friend,  Moira — long  lost." 
He  came  across  and  took  it  from  her  hands,  and  stood 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses      23 

holding  it.  "  You  have  no  past,  Moira,  to  rise  up  and 
mock  you.  But  if  ever  you  have  " — he  smiled  suddenly 
— "  may  it  be  in  your  power  to  wipe  it  out  as  I  do." 
He  went  to  the  fire,  dropping  the  picture  on  to  the 
glowing  turf.  "  I  got  it  out  to  burn  it,"  he  said. 

Moira  stared.  This  was  a  new  side  of  the  Hermit's 
character.  She  watched  the  photograph  as  it  crinkled 
and  burnt  up  slowly,  scorched  to  death  by  the  dull 
red  fire. 

"  A  dead  friend  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Dead,  Moira "  :  he  smiled  at  her  a  little  sadly. 
"  Dead,  and  I  live,  and  hope  to  live — more.  If  you 
had  not  been  going  away  so  soon  we  might  have 
talked  more  of  it."  Mrs.  Maher's  wails  arose  from 
the  kitchen.  "  Listen,"  he  said,  "  what  people  they 
are  !  I  came  among  them  fifteen  years  ago,  sick  of 
everything  on  earth,  and  they  have  healed  me.  I 
can  laugh  now.  I  can  even  wonder  why  I  could  not 
laugh  then."  He  stamped  upon  the  turf  fire,  and 
flung  some  wood  upon  it. 

"  If  you  were  to  go  away,  then,"  said  Moira,  "  you 
would  miss  it  all." 

"  Some  of  it.  For  something  else  now  means  the 
world  to  me,"  he  answered  quietly. 

He  rowed  Moira  over  the  lake  in  the  hush  of  a 
golden  twilight,  and  said  he  would  come  soon  to  see 
the  prospective  hunters. 

The  "  word "  concerning  horses  seemed  to  have 
travelled  far  and  wide.  Borrisdeane  became  an 
active  volcano,  flinging  up  horses  hotly. 

"There's  a  man  outside  with  a  horse  waiting  on  ye." 

How  many  scurries  across  the  little  garden  and 
eager  gatherings  about  the  steeds ;  for  Eva  and 


24  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Kathleen,  having  put  common  sense  behind  them, 
were  determined  to  take  Moira's  views  now  ;  to  hunt 
and  make  money  of  their  hunters  seemed  childishly 
easy.  .  .  .  Patsy,  a  youth  engaged  to  tidy  up  the 
stables,  and  mind  the  purchases  to  come,  was  buoyant 
with  hope.  "  When  you'd  larn  a  horse  to  cross  the 
country  there  was  no  knowing  the  price  he'd  go  to," 
he  told  them.  "  Up  in  Cahirvally  and  in  Cork,  faix, 
they'd  throw  you  out  a  hundred  pound  as  aisy  as 
a  man'd  drink  whisky."  Patsy  whistled  gay  tunes 
as  he  thought  of  his  own  future  life  ;  he  endeavoured, 
with  praiseworthy  patience,  to  absorb  all  the  directions 
which  were  pointed  out  for  his  guidance — to  crush 
the  oats,  and  chop  the  hay,  and  feed  four  times 
daily.  "  Faith,  'tis  ladies'  maids  them  hunters'd  want," 
said  Patsy  to  himself.  "  Them  is  things  easier  said 
to  be  done  than  done,"  he  observed  later,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  forget  all  he  had  heard. 

Moira  pored  over  Fitzwygram  and  other  books 
until  her  brain  whirled,  and  she  was  inclined  to  think 
that  the  Rcntgen  rays  were  her  one  chance  of 
judging  bone  and  unsoundness.  But,  even  filled  with 
that  little  knowledge  which  is  worse  than  none,  she 
realised  that  the  first  wave  of  the  equine  flood  was 
not  one  of  hunters.  She  dispatched  them  sternly, 
assuring  disappointed  owners  that  they  did  not  want 
horses  to  draw  "  cyars  "  or  ploughs,  but  those  of  shape 
and  quality  to  fly  over  the  fences  at  Ballydare. 
In  vain  did  Miles  Hennessy,  the  postman,  assure 
them  that  his  cob  was  the  very  one  to  match  them. 
"  For,  faix,  there  wasn't  a  field  you'd  put  him  in, 
the  schamer,  but  he'd  level  the  gap  to  get  out  ; 
weren't  they  tired  from  raising  sthones  afther  him  ? 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses      25 

An'  that  cliver  he  was,  even  a  green  bank  wouldn't 
sthop  him,  for  what  he  couldn't  knock,  faix,  he'd 
crawl  over  on  his  stchomack,  savin'  your  presence, 
Miss  Eva.  Didn't  they  find  him  but  lasht  week  with 
his  hind  legs  at  home  an'  his  foremosht  parts  in  Dan 
Daly's  afther  grass,  an'  he  grazing  quite  continted  ?  " 

Moira,  with  certain  bitter  memories  of  rides  upon 
this  prodigy,  and  its  firm  refusal  to  jump  any  fence, 
even  upon  its  "  stchomack,"  was  obdurate.  Even 
strong  hints  of  gratitude  due  for  these  mounts  had  to 
be  ignored,  and  the  pony,  a  ragged  brown  scarecrow, 
sent  away. 

Then  Clancy,  a  cousin  of  the  smith's,  swept  upon 
them  with  a  broken-kneed,  vicious  mare — a  dejected 
example  of  how  little  food  a  horse  can  preserve  life 
on.  Having  heard  they  wanted  a  hunting  horse, 
"  Begob,  there  was  a  chance  for  them.  Lep — she'd 
lep  the  say  if  you  set  it  before  her.  But  a  fortnight 
pasht,  on  meetin'  a  mothor,  didn't  she  clear  the  fince 
off  the  road,  cyar  an'  all,  with  ould  Mrs.  Maguire 
weighin1  down  one  fall  ov  it  ?  And  what  couldn't  she 
jump  with  nothin'  on  her  but  a  saddle  an'  one  of  the 
young  ladies ! " 

The  girls  shook  their  heads.  The  collar-marked, 
light-middled  wreck  could  never  be  hunted.  She 
was,  if  they  had  known  it,  without  a  good  point  in 
her  unhappy  body  ;  had  curbs  as  big  as  eggs,  bog 
spavin,  and  was  a  speedy  cutter.  Even  Moira,  who, 
confused  by  a  chapter  on  young  horses'  points,  would 
hold  forth  hopes  that  some  of  the  woolly,  hairy- 
heeled  colts  might  improve  into  wonders,  knew  the 
mare  was  hopeless.  So  the  flood  of  horses  ebbed,  and 
no  flotsam  full  of  treasure  remained  upon  their  shore. 


26  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

The  Hermit  came  often,  and  smiled  politely.  He 
proved  useful,  for  he  could  wrench  open  unwilling 
jaws,  and  tell  a  horse's  age,  thereby  preventing  the 
purchase  of  a  rather  good-looking  black  which  the 
owner  declared  to  be  five  off,  and  which  the  Hermit 
pronounced  to  be  three. 

"  And,  being  that  age,  will  probably  make  a  useful 
brougham  horse,"  he  said  in  his  quiet  way. 

Eva  grew  dispirited,  and  Moira's  eyes  lost  their 
serene  hopefulness,  but  there  were  interludes  of 
exciting  letters  from  Ballydare.  Such  houses  as  they 
had  hoped  for  were  quite  beyond  their  means.  One 
could  not  pay  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  out  of  their 
small  capital.  They  wrote  and  wrote  again  until  better 
news  came.  There  was  a  little  house,  The  Beeches, 
on  the  Castleknock  road,  furnished,  with  stabling  for 
three  horses,  and  a  garden.  It  was  generally  let 
to  married  officers,  but  one,  leaving  hurriedly,  would 
sublet  at  a  sacrifice ;  namely,  for  fifty  pounds  a  year. 
They  must  wire  should  they  wish  to  secure  it. 

There  was  a  garden,  a  yard,  a  croquet  lawn, 
sufficient  rooms.  The  three  girls  pored  over  the 
letter,  and  Patsy  was  hastily  dispatched  upon  a 
borrowed  jennet,  with  a  reply-paid  wire  ;  they  could 
not  rest  until  this  treasure  in  houses  was  secured 
to  them  for  a  year.  The  agent  in  distant  Ballydare 
read  the  wire  and  smiled  faintly.  The  real  reason 
for  Major  Trevenna's  abrupt  cessation  of  tenancy  had 
not  been  stated  in  his  description  of  The  Beeches. 
He  replied  with  a  pleased  haste,  stating  that  agree- 
ment followed. 

Old  Biddy,  through  all  this  excitement,  stalked 
through  life  unappeased.  She  termed  the  change 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses     27 

"thapesin,"  the  horse  dealing  "childer's  nonsense." 
"  Whin  min  themselves  could  be  taken  in,  what  could 
young  ladies  expect  ?  Didn't  her  own  brother  bring 
home  a  horse  that'd  neither  lead  nor  dhrive,  but  bruk 
the  schafts  of  the  cyar  twice,  and  was  nigh  to  killin' 
Mike  with  a  belt  of  his  hoof?  Fifteen  pounds  he  paid, 
a  five  he  got,  and  he  a  man  of  sense." 

Biddy's  conservative  heart  was  also  wrung  by  the 
recipes  culled  from  The  Ladies'  Illustrated  and  brought 
to  her  to  prepare,  that  the  little  dinners  they  meant 
to  give  might  do  them  credit  at  Ballydare.  She  shied 
at  French  names  and  garnishes,  and  denounced  the 
high-priced  tins  which  came  from  distant  shops. 

Time  was  flying,  and  no  horses  had  arrived.  Eva 
grew  dispirited,  and  even  Moira  was  troubled,  when 
Patsy  came  tearing  in  to  announce  that  "Jimmy  Mack 
from  beyont  the  hills  had  heard  they  wanted  hunthers, 
and  was  bringin'  over  the  grandest,  breediest  mare 
you  ever  clapped  an  eye  on.  She  was  outside  on  the 
road  no  less.  Like  one  ye'd  see  racin1,  that  gintale 
and  thin  in  the  legs." 

Moira,  who  had  set  her  mind  upon  preparing  a  new 
dish  for  lunch,  upset  a  pile  of  chopped  parsley,  handed 
the  recipe  to  Biddy,  and  fled  hurriedly,  her  heart 
beating.  This  should  be  hers.  The  others  followed 
her.  Jimmy  Mack,  a  lanky  man  with  a  guileless  face 
and  benevolent  mouth,  was  holding  a  lengthy,  ragged 
grey  mare.  She  had  fine  sloping  shoulders,  a  head 
well  set  on,  and  long  pasterns,  which  made  her 
movements  attractive.  That  she  missed  a  rib,  had 
a  waist  as  slim  as  a  girl's,  was  tied  in  below  the 
knee,  and  had  curby  hocks,  were  things  absolutely 
unnoticed  by  the  three  rapturous  admirers. 


28  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  She'll  do  for  me,"  Moira  whispered  hoarsely  ;  her 
great  wisdom  restraining  her  from  an  audible  cry  of 
delight. 

"  Yes,  this  might  do."  This  remark  was  made 
audibly  as  Moira,  with  a  knowing  air,  ran  slender 
fingers  down  the  mare's  thin  legs,  while  Jimmy  Mack 
prayed  to  his  gods  that  the  dust  on  the  off-knee, 
so  carefully  plastered  on,  might  remain  to  cover  a 
palpable  mark. 

Moira  stood  back,  none  the  wiser  for  her  searching 
examination.  Age  ?  Four  years.  Height  ?  Sixteen 
hands.  Breeding  ? 

This  was  easy  work  to  answer.  Quick  words 
tripped  glibly  from  Mack's  kindly  mouth.  The  filly 
was  "  by  Walmsgate,  above  in  Limerick,  the  dam  an 
ould  Victhor  mare,  the  grand-dam  by  Solon.  Blood 
it  is,  ye  may  say,"  cried  Mr.  Mack  enthusiastically, 
"  and  it  goes  to  me  heart  to  part  with  the  crathur  I've 
reared." 

It  would  not  have  served  Mr.  Mack's  purpose  to 
confess  that  he  paid  ten  pounds  fifteen  for  the  mare 
at  Castle  Island  fair,  two  years  before,  and  knew 
nothing  further  of  her.  .  .  .  To  Moira  and  the  others 
it  was  precious  truth.  Moira  circled  once  again, 
this  time  with  grave  respect,  feeling  it  was  honour 
to  stand  upon  the  road  with  Mack  and  this  equine 
princess. 

"  Ye  see  'tis  nearly  clean  bred  she  is."  Mack  per- 
ceived the  impression  he  had  made.  "  'Tis  Punches- 
town  she  should  be  at.  An'  for  thrainin',  I'll  tell  ye 
no  lies."  Jimmy  Mack,  honest  man,  swallowed  noisily. 
"  I  have  her  handled  but  little :  she  was  out  in  the 
fields,  but  sure  she  can  lep  like  a  deer.  Miss  Bennet 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses      29 

behind  is  mad  for  to  get  her  ;  but  I,  bein'  a  fusht  cousin 
of  the  smith's,  brought  her  over  to  give  the  young 
ladies  first  chanst."  He  walked  the  mare  up  and 
down  and  awaited  results. 

The  grey  pranced  airily,  head  up  and  tail  out. 
Patsy  whispered  heated  praises  from  behind  his  hand. 
"  Fit  to  race,  with  that  long  tail  on  her  and  thim 
darlin'  bits  of  shins,  that,  begob,  ye  could  put  yer 
hand  round.  An'  the  bind  in  her  ankle  joints  !  Faix, 
'tis  chasing  ye  they'll  be,  Miss  Moira,  on  her." 

With  a  voice  which  trembled  Moira  asked  the  price, 
and  Jimmy  Mack,  who  had  fixed  thirty  as  a  sum 
beyond  his  dearest  hopes,  said  "  Fifty  to  you,  miss,"  in 
the  tone  of  one  who  confers  a  deep  favour. 

Fifty  pounds  for  this  magnificent  animal — for  this 
creature  of  breeding  and  beauty  !  They  looked  at 
Mack  with  gentle  pity,  while  he  waited  with  his  eyes 
down  and  his  face  serene.  Why  did  poor  men  toil  in 
offices  when  gold-mines,  masked  by  grey  hairs,  lay 
undiscovered  in  the  Kerry  hills  ?  Two  hundred,  two 
fifty— this  one  animal  alone  would  pay  for  their  year's 
outing. 

"  It  is  for  nothing,  surely,"  Eva  whispered  ;  but  her 
pocket  was  saved  by  Patsy,  who,  thrusting  himself 
forward  with  a  grunt  of  contempt,  suggested  in  heavy 
undertone  that  none  but  children  would  give  a  price 
asked. 

"  An',  maybe,  ye'd  be  glad  to  see  thirty-five, 
Jimmy  Mack,"  said  Patsy,  feeling  in  his  turn  the  mare's 
legs.  As  they  strayed  near  some  suspicious  enlarge- 
ment above  the  coronet,  and  Mr.  Mack  was  unaware 
of  the  depth  of  Patsy's  ignorance,  he  offered  to  split 
the  difference  with  suspicious  alacrity.  So  that 


3Q  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Patsy,  fast  assuming  the  airs  of  a  man  who  buys 
largely,  wrangled,  and  Mack  argued,  and  the  mare 
changed  hands  for  forty-three  pounds  ten  shillings, 
with  the  half-sovereign  back  for  luck,  and  was  led 
away  to  the  stables,  while  Mack  contemplated  a  slip 
of  coloured  paper,  firmly  signed  Eva  Considine,  and 
searched  his  pockets  for  silver  and  coppers  to  make 
up  the  ten  shillings. 

"  An1  God  be  with  the  day  the  old  lady  was  tuk," 
said  James  Mack  piously,  as  he  strode  towards  his 
home,  paying  no  visit  to  his  cousin. 

The  girls  ran  to  the  yard  to  see  Patsy  carry  out  the 
order  to  immediately  clean  and  tidy  up  the  new 
purchase.  But  ere  they  reached  it  they  were  greeted 
by  a  wailing  shriek,  and  by  Patsy  flying  for  safety, 
crying  that  the  schamer  had  him  hunted,  a  trample 
of  hoofs,  followed  by  an  open-mouthed  head  at  the 
stable  door,  confirming  this  statement.  Mr.  Mack  was 
at  this  moment  wondering  whom  the  mare  would 
bite  first. 

"Didn't  she  meet  her  teeth  on  me  throuser?" 
declaimed  Patsy,  indignant  at  slurs  cast  upon  his 
management  of  horses.  "  I  declare  to  God,  before 
the  brush  was  on  her  the  white  of  her  eye  was  as  big 
as  her  head,  and  she  had  her  teeth  sharpened,  lookin" 
for  a  shpot  Jennits  and  horses  I've  minded,"  said 
Patsy,  mending  his  garments  with  a  rusty  pin,  "  but 
the  like  of  her  I  never  was  afther." 

At  this  juncture  the  Hermit,  a  fishing-rod  over  his 
shoulder,  came  into  the  yard.  At  his  voice — or,  as 
Patsy  described  it,  "the  roar  he  let" — the  mare 
retired,  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  box,  with  the 
tail  of  her  eye  searching  for  Patsy. 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses      31 

"  So  this  is  the  beginning."  The  Hermit  looked  at 
the  trembling  mare,  checking  her  inclination  to  rush 
at  him  with  successive  shouts. 

Moira,  remarking  that  the  poor  darling  was  nervous, 
dispatched  her  sisters  for  carrots  and  apples,  and 
Patsy  for  oats,  and  fell  into  a  dream  of  names — 
Arthur,  Solon,  Victor.  What  a  harvest  to  reap  from  ! 
With  quick  ardour  she  settled  on  The  Star,  and 
commenced  to  paint  it  on  the  door  with  some 
whitewash. 

"  Well  bred  ? "  guessed  the  Hermit,  still  studying. 

Moira  ran  through  the  string  of  names  with 
pride. 

"  Oh,  then,  this  is  one  of  Mack's — Jimmy  Mack's," 
said  the  Hermit  easily  ;  "  that's  his  usual  pedigree.  I 
heard  he'd  got  a  grey  they  couldn't  stable." 

Moira  sniffed  angrily  and  looked  blank. 

"  And  sound  ?  "  he  asked,  as  the  others  came  back. 

"Sound!  Oh,  well "  Moira's  face  fell  sud- 
denly. In  her  wild  longing  for  this  mare  she  had 
forgotten  the  item  of  soundness. 

Patsy,  being  accused  of  cowardice,  made  gloomy 
way  into  the  stable.  Aided  by  the  Hermit,  and  the 
butt  end  of  the  landing  net,  they  got  a  head  collar  on 
to  The  Star. 

"  I  declare  to  the  hivins  ye'd  see  the  heels  of  her 
shakin'  to  be  at  ye,"  remarked  Patsy,  as,  strengthened 
by  further  roars  from  the  Hermit,  he  tied  The  Star  up 
and  proceeded  to  clean  her. 

Tremayne  ran  his  long  fingers  down  the  mare's 
legs.  He  eyed  her  light  middle,  her  curby  hocks, 
her  weak  pasterns,  and  having  murmured  "  Lord 
Almighty ! "  more  than  once,  he  stood  back  musing. 


32  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Moira  watched  him  contemptuously.  What  could 
Oliver  Tremayne,  the  Hermit,  know  of  horses  ? 

"  Forty-three  pounds."  He  dodged  a  lashing  heel 
and  slipped  out,  while  Patsy  cleaned  in  a  mute  agony 
of  terror. 

"Isn't  she  worth  it?  For  nothing?"  Moira,  pink 
cheeked,  her  hands  full  of  carrots,  which  she  feared  to 
go  in  and  offer,  questioned  him  angrily. 

"  I  have  seldom,"  said  the  Hermit  pleasantly, 
"  seen  more  items  included  at  the  price.  Absolutely 
nothing  extra  for  curby  hocks,  a  broken  knee,  and 
sidebones." 

Here,  seeing  dismay  in  Eva's  eyes,  and  a  glitter 
of  tears  in  Moira's,  he  hastened  to  add  that  neither 
ailment  might  cause  lameness.  But  Moira,  realising 
that  her  wisdom  had  failed  her  at  the  very  first  trial, 
felt  she  hated  the  Hermit.  She  started  away  moodily, 
while  Kathleen,  full  of  her  new  cookery,  bade  the 
Hermit  to  luncheon.  "  We've  a  lovely  make  up  of 
chicken.  Moira  and  I  left  it  to  Biddy  to  do,  when 
the  horse  came,"  she  said,  and  called  to  the  old 
woman,  asking  for  luncheon  and  the  new  dish.  A 
kind  old  face,  framed  by  a  quilled  white  cap,  was 
thrust  through  the  window  ;  a  pink-covered  weekly 
paper  fell  upon  the  garden  path. 

"  Ready  is  it ! "  Biddy  assumed  her  nearest  ap- 
proach to  severity.  "  When  I  read  it  over,  '  two 
breasts  of  chickens/  no  less,  an'  all  manner  of  quare 
things.  An',  in  any  case,  Miss  Kathleen,  couldn't  do 
it  if  I  put  in  legs  an'  all,  for  don't  ye  know  the 
mincer's  broke  since  ye  thrun  it  at  Brady's  ass  for 
comin'  on  to  the  flower  garden  ?  But  the  chicken's 
there,  an'  a  bit  of  bacon,  ready  an'  all.  Bether  than 


Treating  chiefly  of  Young  Horses      33 

any  kennels  ever  was  made."  She  withdrew  her 
head  sharply. 

The  Hermit  picked  up  the  paper  and  gravely  read 
the  recipe  for  quenelles. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  softly,  as  he  followed  the 
three  Considines  to  the  little  dining-room,  "  that 
one  sensible  person  will  go  to  the  great  world  at 
Ballydare." 


CHAPTER   III 

BEYOND  THE   PURPLE  HILLS 

WITH  The  Star,  a  little  shaken,  shining  in  her 
box,  while  Patsy,  filled  with  fear,  brushed 
her  grey  coat  to  smoothness,  something  had  been 
done  towards  completing  the  stud  for  Ballydare. 
Moira,  reading  her  books,  decided  the  Hermit  was 
completely  wrong,  and  Patsy,  upholding  her,  declared 
there  was  hardly  a  horse  ploughing  but  had  "thim 
bits  of  bumps  above  the  foremost  feet." 

Gentle  treatment  having  slightly  melted  the  grey's 
heart,  Patsy  returned  to  his  former  rapture  of  ad- 
miration, and  the  countryside  was  called  in  to 
admire. 

Training  must  begin  immediately.  Eva's  face  grew 
longer  as  she  signed  cheque  after  cheque,  payment 
for  horse  clothing,  bridles,  saddles — their  own  three- 
horned  things  were  quite  impossible — all  from  the 
best  makers,  and  consequently  at  the  best  prices. 
Moira  ordered  and  they  followed  her  impetuous  lead. 

They  pored  over  advertisements  and  lists.  When 
specious  cheapness  would  have  led  them  aside  as  they 
ordered  their  saddles,  the  Hermit  stepped  in.  He 
explained  the  horrors  of  sore  backs,  and  insisted 
on  three  Champion  &  Wiltons  being  immediately 

34 


Beyond  the  Purple  Hills  35 

ordered — and  saw  Eva  groan  at  the  cheque  with  a 
placid  callousness. 

Patsy  shone  forth  in  new  clothes  and  tan  gaiters ; 
The  Star's  blue  rugs  were,  he  declared,  fit  for  a  king's 
quilt ;  the  smell  of  new  leather  permeated  the  house, 
and  the  hire  of  the  smith's  pony  and  cart  (no  longer 
lent  for  nothing),  sent  to  fetch  the  packing  cases,  was 
no  small  item  in  Eva's  account  book. 

Then  when  the  days  closed  in,  and  they  sat  about 
a  glowing  peat  fire,  there  were  other  things  to  talk 
of ;  then  Eva  and  Kathleen  joined  in,  and  patterns  of 
stuffs  and  silks  and  cloths  were  felt  and  peered  at. 
Three  new  habits,  many  new  frocks,  were  necessities. 
They  must  go  fully  fledged  into  this  great  world,  and 
many  sheets  of  paper  were  used  up  as  they  wrote 
from  shop  to  shop,  buying  extensively.  If  Moira 
leaned  towards  expensive  leather,  she  determined  to 
save  in  clothes.  The  Ladies'  Illustrated  gave  the 
names  of  cheap  places,  and  the  Miss  Considines 
robed  themselves  with  a  gorgeous  unsuitability  in 
shop  garments  of  many  descriptions.  Biddy,  looking 
wryly  at  some  of  the  fi^st  assortments,  failed  in 
sympathy. 

"  Miss  Eva,"  she  said,  "  had  a  hump  on  her  like  a 
camel  in  that  new  thrapsin  gown,  and  Miss  Moira'd 
niver  ate  a  bit  of  dinner  if  she  fastened  the  waisht  of 
hers."  Faint  hints  to  Biddy  as  to  wearing  different 
caps  at  Ballydare  were  immediately  seen  and  scorned. 

"  If  they  couldn't  put  up  with  her  as  she  was, 
better  get  a  new  one  to  go  away."  A  protest  which 
brought  a  wave  of  loving  girls  about  her — girls  with 
wet  eyes,  who  forgot  everything  else  as  they  de- 
claimed their  love  for  old  Bid — and  were  ashamed  of 


36  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

their  request.  She  had  nursed  them,  scolded  them, 
spoilt  them,  for  nearly  seventeen  years,  representing 
to  them  the  only  love  they  had  known  at  Borris- 
deane.  Biddy  wept  also,  growing  lonely  as  the 
change  grew  nearer — old  plants  uproot  badly.  She 
wandered  with  wistful  eyes  among  her  chickens  and 
ducks,  and  sat  gloomily  as  she  milked  the  good  red 
cow,  now  going  to  another  home.  Poor  Strawberry, 
whose  sturdy  calves  were  a  yearly  income,  and  with 
one  now,  red  and  white,  which  was  growing  up  to 
replace  her. 

With  the  new  cavesson  duly  adjusted,  with  new 
knee-caps  on  her  knees,  and  with  lumpy  bandages 
wound  about  her  thin  shanks,  The  Star  went  forth  to 
be  trained. 

The  fields  all  round  were  fenced  with  trappy  rotten 
banks,  and  there  was  always  full  permission  to  take 
horses  over  them.  The  mare  was  keenness  itself; 
her  late  owner  had  not  overrated  her  flying  powers. 
She  flew  everything  she  was  put  at,  and  the  result 
was  not  happy.  She  was  taken — at  a  walk — up  the 
narrow  overgrown  banks,  which  a  horse  must  top  or 
fall  over  ;  and  The  Star,  with  determination  worthy 
of  a  better  cause,  fell.  There  was  not  a  ditch  but 
opened  its  jaws  to  receive  her.  She  would  struggle 
up  unabashed,  looking  round  rather  as  if  she  expected 
to  be  praised  for  getting  up  so  quickly,  and  then 
unchecked  by  "  wo-as  "  and  "  steadies  " — fall  into  the 
next.  Stone  walls  were  different ;  when  put  at  one 
fencing  a  gap  she  would  tuck  up  her  long  legs  and 
skim  over  easily,  but  banks  were  not  of  her  world. 
Moira,  rushing  beside  her,  declared  stoutly  that  it 
must  be  only  a  matter  of  practice,  as,  for  the  tenth 


Beyond  the  Purple  Hills  37 

time  on  the  second  day's  schooling,  she  beheld  Patsy 
travelling  up  the  steep  of  a  bank  on  his  stomach, 
impelled  by  the  suddenly  tightened  rope  as  the  mare 
vanished  into  a  deep  ditch,  and  he,  as  he  declared 
wearily,  keeping  a  tight  strain  on  to  make  her  put 
her  feet  on  the  brambles. 

"  An'  that's  the  fourth  time  she  to  meet  that  fince. 
An  obstinate  thing  she  is,  that  won't  be  said  by  her 
betthers,"  he  concluded,  dragging  the  mare  out. 

The  Hermit,  whip  in  hand,  came  to  help  with  the 
schooling. 

"  For  God's  sake,  keep  her  for  the  Deshford  side, 
where  there  are  only  stone  walls,"  he  entreated  un- 
happily. "  I'm  afraid  she'll  never  learn  to  jump." 

Moira,  stroking  her  round  chin,  found  many  causes  : 
youth,  high  breeding,  over-eagerness,  Patsy's  lack 
of  firmness.  If  he  held  the  mare  harder  she  must 
learn  to  change  upon  the  banks. 

Patsy,  declaring  that  "  if  'twas  all  that  lay  between 
him  an'  drowndin',"  he  couldn't  hold  the  rope  tighter, 
approached  the  next  fence,  The  Star  prancing 
airily. 

Moira,  as  she  stood  and  directed,  asked  the  Hermit 
with  quick  curiosity  what  he  knew  of  Ballydare. 

"  Oh,  something,"  he  said  evasively.  "  There  now  ! 
Look ! "  and  his  eyes  rested  unhappily  upon  the 
alleged  descendant  of  Solon  as  she  pushed  an  un- 
dismayed and  sour-eyed  head,  festooned  with  trails 
of  bramble,  from  her  eleventh  ditch.  Also,  with  the 
groan  of  one  who  finds  old  bruises,  Patsy  fell  again, 
having  strained  upon  the  rope  with  all  his  strength. 

"  Come  up,  Asteroid,"  said  the  Hermit  unkindly, 
whipping  the  grey  out, 


38  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Tis  pride,"  said  Patsy,  removing  the  brambles. 
'  Too  grand  she  is,  I  suppose,  and  too  breedy  to  put 
her  foot  on  anything.  Didn't  I  say  to  Miss  Moira, 
'tis  between  the  flags  she  should  be  ?  " 

The  Hermit,  unkindly  muttering  something  con- 
cerning between  the  shafts  of  a  hack  car,  seized  the 
rope  himself  and  took  the  mare  at  the  next  fence.  He 
tried  complete  freedom,  which  The  Star  acknowledged 
by  flying  the  whole  fence  cleverly,  and  landing  with 
a  foot  to  spare. 

"  She'll  never  make  a  hunter,  and  she'll  turn  upside- 
down  when  she's  tired,"  said  the  Hermit  unhappily, 
looking  at  Moira. 

On  one  of  the  days  when  this  unhappy  training 
was  not  proceeding,  Patsy  announced  that  there  was 
a  woeful  great  camel  of  a  horse  outside,  belonging  to 
one  Cassidy,  that  might  suit 

Eva  flew  out  to  see  a  great  lumpy  bay  with  a 
heavy  head  and  great  round  jointed  legs.  Eva's 
eyes  were  taken  by  strength  ;  the  bay  had  points 
about  him  which  were  capable  of  convincing  an 
inexperienced  judge  that  he  was  a  weight-carrying 
hunter. 

"  Up  to  a  ton  of  weight,"  the  owner  said  proudly, 
omitting  to  remark  that  it  would  have  been  more 
suitable  at  the  horse's  heels  than  at  his  head. 

"  We  were  doing  common  work  with  him,"  said 
Cassidy,  "  and  John  Brady's  fusht  cousin  bein'  dead, 
we  druv  this  one  to  the  funeral,  and  says  John 
Brady  himself,  says  he,  '  There's  shapes  about  that 
one,  so  take  him  down  to  the  Miss  Considines,  that's 
looking  for  hunthers,'  so  with  that  we  untackled  him, 
and  young  Father  Dennehy,  that  was  there,  got  up 


Beyond  the  Purple  Hills  39 

on  him,  an'  the  horse  jumped  a  gap  clivir  as  a 
Christian.  An'  thin  he  med  at  a  bank — a  God's 
thruth  it  is — but  he  was  up  an'  down  the  same  as 
a  spidther,  nivir  lavin'  hould  of  the  fince." 

Eva  listened  impressed.  She  had  her  saddle  put 
on  and  sat  upon  the  great  fat  back,  feeling  as  though 
a  tower  of  strength  moved  beneath  her. 

The  price  was  low,  a  nervous  vet.  passed  the  horse 
practically  sound,  but  was  unkind  enough  to  hope, 
very  nervously,  that  the  bay  wouldn't  be  too  slow  for 
the  brougham,  and  finally,  the  great  beast,  speedily 
christened  Gog,  was  eased  through  the  door  of  the 
stable  next  to  The  Star,  where  she  screamed  at  him 
peevishly. 

The  Hermit  seemed  bereft  of  words  when  he  saw 
the  new  purchase.  He  only  shook  his  head,  and 
remarked  that  some  things  were  too  big  to  comment 
on. 

There  was  no  temper  about  Gog.  Patsy  said  he 
was  a  dacent  horse  entirely.  He  suffered  cleaning 
with  surprised  benevolence ;  he  ate  apples  and  carrots 
and  anything  he  could  find,  including  a  straw  bed  a 
night  when  he  had  finished  his  hay.  His  hairy  under- 
lip  absolutely  quivered  for  food.  Also,  he  was  so 
deliberate,  and  so  very  gentle,  that  when  he  joined  The 
Star  in  her  ditch-prospecting  hours,  Eva  was  able  to 
lead  him  herself. 

True,  the  Hermit's  whip  was  not  unneeded  as  the 
big  horse  paused  before  a  bank;  but  once  he  recognised 
the  inevitable,  Gog  would  rise  with  a  grunting  groan, 
land  accurately  on  the  narrow  top,  search  among 
thorns  and  brambles  for  secure  footing,  and  with  a 
mighty  lurch  pound  safely  into  the  far  field. 


40  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

The  Hermit,  who  was  given  to  obscure  speeches, 
said  that  he  really  believed  the  big  horse  would  not 
put  Eva  down,  and  that  he  would  make  a  good  hunter 
when  hounds  ran  backwards,  and  Eva,  who  thought 
this  might  be  a  term  of  sport,  said  happily  that  she 
hoped  he  would.  Kathleen,  who  came  to  watch,  said 
she  thought  that  she  would  rather  not  try  to  make 
money  on  young  horses.  She  said  her  experience 
might  be  one  which  would  not  jump  at  all,  and  that 
she  was  nervous,  so  pleaded  for  a  small  sum  of  money 
with  which  to  buy  a  trained  and  valueless  screw,  but 
one  which  would  carry  her  safely. 

The  Hermit's  brows  were  knitted  as  he  saw  the  last 
day's  schooling,  his  heart  was  ill  at  ease;  the  Ballydare 
banks  were  formidable  fences,  and  he  feared  for  Moira 
and  her  equine  Star. 

"  She  might  do  over  fly  fences,"  he  said  unhappily. 
"  I  tell  you  what,  Moira,  I'll  give  you  sixty 
pounds  for  her,  and  you  can  buy  another  with  the 
money." 

Sixty  pounds  !  How  Moira  scoffed  at  him,  with 
golden  visions  of  duplicated  hundreds  lying  before 
her  !  The  Star  had  been  a  bargain.  Where  for  such 
a  sum  could  she  buy  another,  with  long  swishing  tail 
and  slim  legs  ?  Already  Moira  pictured  the  sensation 
she  would  create  at  the  first  meet  at  Ballydare  :  heads 
turning,  voices  questioning.  Who  was  she,  that  pretty 
girl  on  the  beautiful  thoroughbred  mare  ?  She  was 
not  quite  sure  whether  if  offered  two  hundred  by  the 
Master  on  that  very  first  day  that  she  would  not  be 
generous  to  her  sisters  and  accept  it.  Moira  held  a 
vague  idea  that  all  Masters  wished  to  buy  any  very 
fine  new  horses.  Then  some  heavy  man  would 


Beyond  the  Purple  Hills  41 

take  Gog,  and  they  could  buy  again,  and  write  to 
tell  the  stupid  Hermit,  who  never  said  anything 
encouraging. 

The  day  dreams  glowed  as  the  girls  pored  over 
silks  and  chiffons,  and  wrung  Mary  Dillon's,  the 
village  modiste's  heart,  by  insisting  on  her  copying 
pictures  of  new  and  elaborate  blouses  illustrated  in 
various  papers.  Conquests,  save  in  penny  novelettes, 
are  not  made  in  shabby  frocks,  and  Moira  meant  life 
at  Ballydare  to  be  a  series  of  conquests. 

Eva  was  less  enthusiastic.  Romance  had  touched 
her  life  a  summer  before,  and  gone  out  of  it  un- 
expectedly. But  Eva,  building  her  dreams,  was  full 
of  gentle  hope  that  some  day  it  might  come  again, 
so  Ballydare  did  not  mean  so  much  to  her.  Yet  she 
said  nothing,  and  Moira,  unsuspecting,  believed  she 
drove  the  chariots  of  all  three  to  fame,  fun,  and 
fortune. 

Time  flitted,  the  present  tenant  of  The  Beeches 
left,  and  the  agent  announced  that  all  was  prepared 
for  their  arrival.  Already  fallen  leaves  made  ochre- 
coloured  heaps,  while  autumn  touched  others  with 
his  gorgeous  brush.  Scarlet  and  gold  and  orange 
and  brown  flared  in  the  woods  at  Borrisdeane,  show- 
ing across  the  water,  now  growing  grey  and  cold, 
the  rushes  were  yellowing  to  sour,  chilled  melan- 
choly. It  was  high  time  for  horses  to  get  in  wind. 
Even  still  there  were  many  things  to  buy ;  and 
as  the  three  floundered  in  the  sea  of  their  many 
wants  the  Hermit  would  come  to  their  rescue, 
showing  a  strange  knowledge  of  the  world's  ways 
and  prices,  listening  as  they  chattered  of  hunting 
and  dances  and  parties,  of  the  whirl  of  gaieties  which 


42  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

awaited  them,  and  listening  with  a  curious  smile 
behind  his  eyes  which  puzzled  Eva  and  made  Moira 
furious. 

All  the  world  lay  in  front,  yet  farewells  are  always 
sad.  Something  made  the  three  very  quiet  as  they  sat 
for  the  last  time  round  the  turf  fire,  their  little  room 
sulking  under  a  sense  of  unrest.  Boxes  and  bundles 
littered  floor  and  sofas,  forgotten  directions  brought 
them  to  their  feet  every  moment,  and  the  shuffle, 
shuffle  of  Biddy's  feet,  the  jangle  of  keys  and  constant 
opening  and  shutting  of  cupboard  doors  seemed 
a  sound  which  could  not  cease. 

The  shrill  insistence  of  her  directions  as  she  cried 
to  a  helper  in  the  kitchen  echoed  at  each  door. 
"  Katie,  there's  them  pots  of  currant  jam,  pack  them 
up — with  the  flour-bag.  Look  now,  one's  mouldy  ; 
let  ye  take  it  to  Mrs.  Naylor  for  her  cough,  and, 
Katie,  I  have  the  old  apern  found  that's  lost 
these  two  years.  Take  it  and  put  it  in  with  the 
chickens." 

Biddy  was  no  light  thing  to  move.  Nothing  must 
be  wasted,  nothing  left  behind.  With  moist  eyes  she 
scanned  her  favourite  hens,  and  chose  two  from  the 
flock  ;  she  packed  a  brood  of  fluffy  chickens  in  a 
basket ;  she  gathered  scraps  of  food  and  stores  until 
the  luggage  swelled  to  mountainous  proportions,  and 
the  carts  which  came  to  fetch  it  seemed  all  inadequate. 
It  was  grey  dawn  when  they  started  loading,  and  there 
was  a  distinct  possibility  of  missing  the  train  by  the 
time  the  wobbling,  roped  packages  creaked  away  down 
the  narrow  road.  Even  then  Mr.  Clancy's  donkey 
had  to  be  borrowed  for  the  overflow. 

Breakfast  was  hasty  and  uncomfortable,  and  there 


Beyond  the  Purple  Hills  43 

was  an  absolute  feeling  of  deserting  a  patient  friend 
when  they  drove  away  from  the  tiny  house,  leaving 
Nancy  Hourigan  shutting  shutters,  as  she  promised 
fervently  to  mind  it  all  as  her  eye's  apple. 

"  An — she — she  that  won't  light  a  turf  sod  till  we're 
in  the  thrain  back,"  said  Biddy  bitterly  ;  and  here  the 
old  woman,  clasping  her  basket  of  chickens,  broke 
to  open  weeping.  Eva  sniffed,  and  even  Moira's 
eyes  were  damp  as  she  looked  back  at  the  lake. 
The  smith's  cob  went  forward  at  a  merry  amble 
on  up  to  the  rise,  from  which  one  could  see  the  sea — 
a  tumble  of  hoary  crests  and  glittering  water  under  a 
sighing  westerly  wind.  Then  they  turned  towards 
the  tiny  station,  from  which  the  railway  line  wound  its 
snaky  trails  across  to  the  base  of  the  hills. 

A  horse-box  stood  at  the  siding.  Regrets  were 
forgotten  as  the  two  hunters,  swaddled  in  blue  rugs, 
hooded,  knee-capped,  bandaged,  came  prancing  round 
to  be  put  in.  That  is,  The  Star  pranced  and  Gog 
plodded  with  heavy  dignity.  The  hum  of  admiration 
and  awed  excitement  which  arose  from  the  crowd — 
there  is  always  a  crowd  in  Ireland  at  train  time — was 
a  foretaste  of  triumph  to  come.  Moira  listened 
proudly. 

"  Look,  begob.  Aren't  they  grand  !  scarce  a  thing 
can  ye  see  but  tails  an'  heads  of  thim.  Hunters,  no 
less ;  wasn't  Patsy  the  lucky  bhoy,  sittin'  up  proud  an' 
aisy  on  the  great  horse  ?  Her  that  kicked,  that  was 
Mack's  grey,  that  wint  near  to  brain  his  ould  father. 
Maybe  afther  all  she'd  kill  Patsy,  and  he  might  as 
well  be  at  home.  An'  the  big  wan  was  Cassidy's  from 
over  beyant ;  aisy  to  ride  a  hunt  on  him,  begob,  for 
'twould  be  a  sthrait  fince  he  wouldn't  knock  if  he 


44  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

walked  on  it.  Weren't  they  wondtherful,  Miss  Moira 
and  Miss  Eva,  to  be  thryin'  to  cross  counthry  on  thim 
two  quare  lots  ?  " 

Moira  ceased  listening  at  this  point,  directing  Patsy 
to  box  the  horses.  They  were  early,  and  it  was  well, 
for  though  Gog,  always  glad  to  rest,  walked  up  the 
steep  slope  of  the  box  with  incurious  calmness,  The 
Star  would  have  none  of  it.  She  wheeled  with  a 
scream  of  rage,  and  it  was  fully  twenty  minutes 
before,  pushed  and  whipped  by  every  one  who  could 
get  near  enough,  she  was  dragged  into  place.  The 
flap  fell  with  a  clang,  and  from  the  cheerful  pounding 
of  her  heels  as  Patsy  fled  out  through  the  window 
they  knew  that  all  was  well  with  her. 

"  She'd  go  out  of  her  way  to  sphite  ye,"  declaimed 
Patsy  breathlessly.  "  I  tell  ye,  if  she  saw  the  ingin 
coming  an'  knew  we  had  no  time,  she'd  not  go  in  at 
all.  I  declare  to  God,  the  swheat  is  runnin'  off  her 
in  rivers  now." 

Patsy's  heart  was  wrung  by  the  nervous,  fretful 
brute,  who  refused  her  food,  bit  and  kicked  and  broke 
out,  and  apparently  spent  her  existence  in  trying 
to  worry  him. 

The  long  line  was  still  empty.  The  girls,  breathless 
from  the  contest,  left  the  horse-box  and  came  on  to 
the  platform.  All  Borrisdeane  seemed  to  have  come 
to  bid  them  God-speed. 

The  old  doctor  was  there,  brick-complexioned  and 
white-haired,  a  kindly  old  man,  who  sped  about  the 
cottages,  combating  with  superstition  and  want  of  air. 
He  forbore  to  grumble  at  furniture  all  put  upside 
down,  curtains  pinned  up,  and  a  poor  departed  lying 
ill  at  ease  on  a  hard  mattress  lest  the  evil  spirits 


Beyond  the  Purple  Hills  45 

should  find  a  place  to  sit  on  ere  the  funeral.  That, 
he  said,  did  not  matter,  for  once  dead  a  man  was  out 
of  his  charge  ;  but  to  wrestle  with  consumption  in 
close  cupboard-bedrooms  with  windows  mortared  in, 
and  the  patients  talking  cheerily  of  their  own  funerals, 
to  find  children  in  croup  out  wheezing  to  death  among 
the  chickens  or  the  doorsteps,  and  women  with  children 
two  days  old  milking  cows,  had  wrinkled  his  brow 
sadly.  He  carried  half  a  chicken  now  wrapped  in 
newspaper,  and  some  eggs  in  a  paper  bag.  There 
was  Miss  Butler — whose  beaded  mantle  Moira  had 
condemned — with  a  pot  of  jam  and  home-made 
buttered  scones  for  their  tea  when  they  got  in,  she 
said.  There  was  the  Rector's  wife,  showering 
exhortations  and  advice. 

"  Oh,  it  was  an  undertaking.  She  hoped  it  would 
not  prove  a  bad  one,  They  must  be  very  quiet  now, 
very  dignified,  as  they  were  to  live  alone." 

"  Brave  children  !  "  This  from  the  doctor.  "  Going 
ofif  to  follow  the  dogs.  Oh,  you'll  never  come  back 
from  there  ;  the  soldiers  will  take  you."  This  was  a 
witticism,  but  he  blew  his  red  nose. 

Biddy,  still  weeping,  sat  upon  a  truck,  forlornly 
carrying  her  basket  of  fluffy  chickens,  and  guarding 
the  large  wooden  box  holding  the  two  hens  and  the 
old  grey  cat,  a  board  dividing  them.  A  mighty 
pile  of  boxes,  bundles,  baskets,  and  trunks  grew 
heavenwards  upon  the  platform. 

"  They'll  charge  you  extra,  Moira.  You  should 
have  had  a  van." 

Homely,  kindly,  old  Borrisdeane  friends,  remon- 
strating and  applauding,  they  gathered  round  Eva 
and  Kathleen  ;  and  Moira,  having  returned  to  take 


46  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

a  look  at  The  Star,  found  herself  alone  with  the 
Hermit.  It  was  his  "roar"  which  had  finally  driven 
the  grey  mare  to  her  box,  his  hand  which  had  held 
her  as  she  tried  to  dash  out  again,  but  through  it  all 
he  had  never  spoken. 

Moira  looked  at  him.  As  she  looked  it  dawned 
upon  her  for  the  first  time  that  he  was  good  to  look 
at,  and  that  his  heathery  Harris  tweed  clothes  had 
never  been  made  in  Kerry. 

"  Well,"  she  said  breathlessly.  Moira  looked  very 
pretty  with  flushed  face  and  shining  eyes,  a  powder 
of  grey  hairs  on  her  dark  grey  coat. 

"  I  hope  it  may  not  be  ill,  Moira,"  said  the  Hermit 
slowly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her. 

Moira  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Why  should  this 
Oliver  Tremayne  stand  aloof— would  not  dub  them 
heroines  and  wondrously  brave?  Why  should  the 
laugh  behind  his  eyes  make  her  uncomfortable  ?  "I 
believe  you'd  be  glad  if  it  was  ill,"  she  flashed  out, 
and  then  felt  ashamed. 

"  That  speech,"  he  said,  "  I  must  forgive.  And  telJ 
me,  Moira  " — he  came  nearer  to  her,  so  close  that  his 
hand  touched  her  sleeve — "  do  you  still  think  Borris- 
deane  the  worst  place  in  the  world  ?  " 

"A  place  to  live  out  of,"  she  said  imperiously. 
"  That  is  all."  Yet  involuntarily  she  followed  his 
glance  as  he  looked  across  the  lake  to  the  woods 
about  his  house,  past  it  over  brown  bog  land,  up 
over  scarred  craggy  crests  to  the  purple  hills  she 
was  to  pass  beyond  to-day  ;  lonely  in  its  beauty, 
fresh  and  sweet  with  its  clean,  salt-laden  breeze.  He 
sighed  as  he  looked,  knowing  the  healing  it  had 
brought  him. 


Beyond  the  Purple  Hills  47 

"  There  are  worse  places,"  he  said,  half  to  himself. 
"  Hot  streets,  glaring  rooms,  glitter,  and  flash,  and 
hurry,  and  nothing  true  among  it  all.  But  perhaps 
you  will  think  so  still,  Moira,  when  your  eyes  have 
looked  on  the  wonderful  world  you  are  going  to ;  and 
you  must  go  unbiassed."  Then  he  smiled  and  spoke 
aloud  :  "  Honestly,  I  hope  it  may  be  a  great  success : 
that  you  may  be  social  lights,  and  have  the  time  you 
dream  of.  But  if,  in  this  social  whirlpool,  people 
should  take  up  your  scheme  all  wrong ;  if  they  should 
not  be  civil  at  Ballydare  ;  if  it's  not  quite  what  you 
expect — will  you  write  and  let  the  old  Hermit  know, 
Moira  ?  "  he  said  pleadingly. 

Moira  stared  at  him,  a  growing  misgiving,  a  lone- 
liness she  had  never  dreamt  of  feeling,  catching  at  her 
throat.  Oliver  Tremayne,  the  Hermit !  A  man  who 
went  nowhere,  knew  no  one,  offering  to  help  in  social 
troubles  !  Foolishly,  for  what  troubles  could  there 
be  ?  They  were  the  Miss  Considines — well  connected, 
pretty.  Of  course  they  would  know  every  one  worth 
knowing  at  Ballydare. 

It  was  Moira  who  looked  away  now  across  silver 
water  to  mist-capped  hills.  Something  stung  in  her 
eyes — the  desolation  of  the  upheaval  wrought  upon 
her,  the  doctor's  red,  white-whiskered  face  grew  sud- 
denly dear.  Moira  felt  suddenly  that  beads  were 
pretty  things  to  trim  a  satin  mantle  with ;  how  they 
glittered  now  in  the  sun  as  old  Miss  Butler  fluttered 
and  clucked,  not  unlike  her  beloved  Orpington 
hens.  Biddy's  sister,  a  tottering  crone,  cast  curses 
on  journeyings  to  "  furrin  parts "  with  loud-voiced 
vigour. 

"  Supposing  it  wasn't  all  roses,"  said  the  quiet  voice 


48  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

beside  Moira,  "  this  piece  of — well,  this  trip.     Would 
you  tell  me,  Moira  ?     Let  me  help  ? " 

The  instinct  to  hurt  because  you  are  hurt  swayed 
Moira.  She  gulped  away  something  in  her  throat, 
winked  back  stinging  tears,  and  because  she  must  not 
cry  she  whipped  herself  to  foolish  anger. 

"  Oh,  you !  You've  crabbed  my  idea  from  the 
first,"  she  said  stormily.  "  Why  shouldn't  people  be 
nice  ?  Why  shouldn't  we  have  a  good  time  away 
from  this  wretched  place  ?  We — no,  if  we  do  fail — 
we  want  none  of  your  help,"  and  then  could  have 
bitten  her  tongue  off  as  the  Hermit,  nodding  his 
tweed-capped  head,  looked  at  her  and  stepped 
back. 

Something  screamed  on  the  line.  The  station- 
master  took  up  what  he  termed  "the  sthick,"  and 
at  a  leisurely  amble  the  train  panted  in  ;  there  was 
no  more  time.  Willing  hands  wrestled  with  the 
assortment  of  luggage,  while  the  guard,  who  was  a 
kindly  man,  merely  suggested  that  he'd  probably  be 
killed  when  a  few  things  fell  on  him  at  the  next  stop, 
also  that  God  might  see  to  the  storing  of  any  further 
passengers'  luggage,  but  he  would  not.  This  last  was 
when  Andy  Hannan  dropped  the  flat-irons  and  a 
frying-pan  on  the  railway  servant's  toes.  The  engine, 
with  a  grunt,  backed  to  take  up  the  horse-box.  The 
girls  were  packed  into  a  carriage  and  overwhelmed 
with  farewells  ;  but  through  it  all  the  Hermit,  a  quiet, 
silent  figure  in  well-worn  tweeds,  stood  aloof. 

The  engine  having  backed  for  the  horse-box — 
from  which  Patsy  shrieked  later  of  The  Star's 
doings — hooked  up  the  rest  of  the  train.  It  was 
time  to  go. 


Beyond  the  Purple  Hills  49 

Eva  thrust  her  head  out  "  The  Hermit,"  she  cried. 
"  The  Hermit.  He  has  never  said  good-bye ! " 

"  He  is  tiresome  and  idiotic,"  stormed  Moira.  Yet 
she  ran  to  the  window,  put  Eva  aside,  and  waved  her 
hands  as  they  went  out.  But  the  Hermit,  looking  up 
at  the  hills,  never  seemed  to  see. 


CHAPTER   IV 

BALLYDARE 

THE  mid-day  train,  travelling  leisurely,  bore  the 
three  Miss  Considines  on  to  seek  their  fortunes. 
It  jolted  by  the  edge  of  the  flat  bog-land,  where  they 
knew  every  dark-hued  pool  and  mossy  tussock  ;  it 
toiled  up  a  steep  incline,  until  the  trees  of  Borris- 
deane  were  lost  to  sight,  and  they  crawled  between 
the  mountain  and  the  sea.  At  one  side  grim,  scarred 
hillside,  heather  clinging  to  crevices,  grey  stone 
gleaming  as  it  cropped  up  to  slab  or  point,  towered 
and  frowned  down  at  the  line.  On  the  other  the  cliffs 
fell,  sheer  and  steep,  to  the  sea.  They  seemed  to 
totter  above  the  far  down-wash  of  the  waves,  as  the 
train  edged  round  the  steep  curves. 

What  cold,  grave  things  these  purple  hills  were  as 
they  steamed  beneath  them,  with  no  blur  of  outline 
or  veil  of  silver  mist,  but  menacing,  sternly  angry 
with  the  mortals  who  trailed  their  way  along  their 
sides. 

The  seats  were  hard  and  uncomfortable,  the  heap 
of  parcels  slid  continuously,  declining  to  remain  where 
they  were  placed.  Now  it  was  the  eggs,  their  fall 
followed  by  a  thin  ooze  of  yellow  from  the  paper 
box  ;  now  the  jam  ;  then  a  medley  of  cooking  things 

So 


Ballydare  5 1 

tied  up  at  the  last  moment,  and  bulging  spouts 
and  handles  shamelessly.  A  fellow-traveller  eyed 
them  with  suspicion,  and  was  heard  to  murmur 
"  caravaners  "  to  the  meek  parson  by  her  side.  She 
was  resentful,  too,  when  the  frying-pan,  having 
deliberately  worked  itself  free,  fell  upon  her  rose- 
trimmed  hat. 

But  the  stations  swelled  from  mere  sheds  to  long 
buildings,  where  pictures  of  mustard  and  soap  and 
pills  made  the  world  hideous ;  where  there  were 
porters  and  signal-boxes  and  other  trains  sliding  by. 
And  they  knew  it  was  the  world  at  last,  as  they 
waited  at  Maryborough,  and,  bidden  to  "  sthand 
back,"  saw  the  Dublin-bound  mail  tear  by — a  screech- 
ing, dusty  blur,  with  a  glimpse  of  saloon  carriages  and 
a  long  mail-van. 

They  had  travelled  far  ;  they  were  dusty,  tired,  and 
hungry,  but  as  they  wiped  the  grit  from  their  eyes 
Moira's  voice  whipped  them  to  enthusiasm.  "This 
was  life  :  that  was  how  people  in  the  world  travelled, 
roaring  by  stations  straight  to  some  great  town.  If 
we  had  lived  for  ever  at  Borrisdeane,"  she  said,  "  we 
should  not  have  seen  that  train." 

Eva,  worn  out  by  a  heated  argument  relating  to  the 
quantity  and  weight  of  their  luggage,  agreed  languidly. 
She  was  not  sure  that  she  ever  wanted  to  see  any 
train  again. 

Biddy,  clinging  gloomily  to  her  chickens  and  the 
wooden  box,  was,  on  the  contrary,  roused  to  sour 
remonstrance. 

"  A  crying  shame,"  she  said.  "  Rushing  pasht  us 
here,  with  nivir  a  wait  in  it  to  pick  up  thim  that 
wants  to  travel  on." 


52  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

On  Moira's  sharply  replying  that  they  did  not  want 
to  go  to  Dublin,  Biddy  retorted  that  "  the  dhriver 
might  have  waited  to  see.  I'd  like  to  see  Mikey 
Donellan  racing  through  a  station  like  that,"  she 
said  indignantly. 

They  comforted  themselves  with  tea,  and  changed 
on  to  the  line  for  Ballydare.  The  difficulty  of  Biddy's 
live-stock  being  adjusted  with  some  silver,  they  filled 
up  a  carriage  to  overflowing,  and  in  the  dim  evening, 
with  the  skies  weeping  thinly,  they  arrived  at  their 
destination. 

It  was  a  small  town,  straddling  across  the  wide 
River  Dare ;  a  poor  little  place,  if  they  had  known, 
only  rendered  important  by  its  salmon  and  its 
hounds. 

They  rushed  to  the  window  as  they  steamed  in, 
but  there  was  nothing  to  see  but  lights  twinkling 
through  a  blur  of  rain,  and  the  cold  gloom  of  a 
big  station.  They  must  wait  for  day  to  see  the 
promised  land. 

Moira's  awed  voice  whispered  of  the  station's  vast- 
ness  :  of  what  a  splendid  town  it  must  be.  Yet  they 
were  far  more  forlorn  than  triumphant  as  they  waited 
on  the  ill-lighted  platform  and  saw  fresh  faces  eddy 
about  them,  no  one  to  give  them  greeting.  With 
boats  burnt  to  the  water's  edge  they  had  landed  on 
unknown  shores. 

The  agent  had  arranged  for  a  cart,  but  not,  as  the 
man  in  charge  said,  for  a  van  load,  so  there  was  a 
further  period  of  weariness  while  their  porter,  who 
was  a  person  of  resource,  vanished  into  the  wet  dark- 
ness and  returned  with  a  supplement  of  donkey  carts, 
which  proved  sufficient.  He  gave  thanks  for  a  liberal 


Bally  dare  53 

tip,  and  wished  them  all  success  as  he  helped  to 
unearth  The  Star — now  a  mere  wreck  upheld  by  horse 
collars  and  wooden  partitions — from  her  travelling 
carriage. 

"  Sure  a  sight  of  people  came  for  the  huntin',"  he 
assured  them  as  they  confided  some  of  their  plans. 
Horses,  according  to  his  account,  seemed  to  descend 
upon  Ballydare  wedged  in  boxes  and  cattle-trucks, 
and  to  come  ramping  out  upon  the  platform,  and 
to  depend  for  safety  entirely  upon  his  skill  and  care 
in  unloading.  After  this  Eva  felt  that  it  could  not 
be  less  than  half-a-crown,  but  she  sighed  as  she 
gave  it.  The  entries  in  her  little  account  book  were 
growing  appallingly  long. 

The  car  which  took  them  out  upon  the  strange, 
wide  road  went  swiftly  along,  carrying  them  to  the 
arms  of  fate.  The  Beeches  had  been  sketched 
mentally  and  verbally  many  times.  A  small  house, 
but  neat  and  compact,  no  straggling  waste  of  hall 
and  curious  unneeded  corners  as  at  Lake  Cottage. 
A  yard  square  and  formal,  with  its  range  of  boxes, 
its  lofts,  and  its  saddle-room.  The  stables  in  Kerry 
were  small,  with  apologies  to  the  memories  of  long- 
past  cows,  and  Biddy  and  Patsy  had  fought  with 
an  unceasing  vigour  for  a  warm  corner  near  the 
kitchen  fire. 

Their  hearts  beat  quickly,  they  turned  and  peered 
and  chattered  as  the  car  with  a  rasp  of  catching  steps 
turned  in  a  narrow  gate,  and  pulled  up  a  second  later 
at  an  open  door.  No  ground  had  been  wasted  on  an 
avenue.  A  dapper  young  man,  who  did  not  trouble 
to  remove  his  hat,  was  silhouetted  against  flickering 
candle  light.  He  either  wanted  his  supper  or 


54  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

possessed  an  appointment,  judging  by  his  worried 
manner.  Having  thrust  some  keys  into  their  hands 
and  informed  them  that  Mr.  Guinane  had  ordered  in 
oil,  coal,  milk,  and  everything  else  they  had  asked 
for,  he  vanished  into  the  dripping  night.  The  three 
stood  together,  gathering  fortitude,  as  their  dream 
vision  of  their  new  house  faded.  This,  blinking  at 
them  through  the  falling  mist,  was  a  little  slated 
lump  of  discomfort,  standing  close  to,  in  fact  almost 
upon,  the  wide  road. 

They  bumped  into  the  passage  representing  a  hall, 
peered  into  fireless,  comfortless  cupboards  which  re- 
presented sitting-rooms,  and  sat  down  simultaneously 
suddenly  and  helplessly  upon  anything  they  could 
find,  peering  at  each  other  furtively  to  see  if  any 
one  thought  it  better  than  it  was.  That  Eva  chose 
the  chicken  basket  and  Moira  the  wooden  home 
of  cat  and  hens  made  their  rest  short,  while  the 
carman's  voice  with  mild  sarcasm  wished  to  know 
if  they  wanted  him  to  wait  to  drive  away  next 
morning.  Having  grossly  overcharged  them,  he 
dodged  the  loaded  carts  now  arriving,  and  departed 
satisfied. 

Biddy  was  overwrought  and  weary,  and  having 
removed  and  let  out  the  pets,  a  crescendo  of  unhappy 
comment  drifted  from  the  kitchen. 

"  Sorra  a  pot  or  a  pan  fit  to  cook  in,  and  the  kettle 
as  full  of  fur  as  a  rabbit's  coat.  The  taste  of  a  range 
that  was  there  might  be  out  of  a  doll's  house,  it  might, 
an'  you  couldn't  warm  your  hands  at  it,  let  alone 
cook."  This  wave  of  discovery  and  objection  was 
broken  by  a  shriek  of  anger,  as  Grey  Jenny  and 
the  dorkings,  their  sense  of  honour  blunted  by 


Bally  dare  55 

hunger,  severally  drank  the  milk  and  got  into  the 
flour  bag. 

At  this  point  the  trample  of  hoofs  made  diversion, 
and  they  went  to  the  stables.  But  these  were  no 
better  than  the  house.  A  three-cornered  patch  reft 
from  the  side  of  the  road  represented  the  yard ; 
some  sheds  built  against  the  high  wall,  the  lauded 
loose  boxes. 

Patsy,  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  was  declaiming  he'd 
not  wrong  his  "  mother's  ould  ass  by  askin'  her  to  sthay 
there."  As  it  was,  several  bars  had  to  be  taken  down 
to  make  room  for  Gog,  while  further  on  The  Star's 
long  weak  legs,  almost  too  tired  to  kick,  strayed  into 
a  cobbled,  uneven  passage.  And  Patsy,  who  was  not 
optimistic,  opined  that  she'd  probably  "  casht  herself 
an'  die." 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish,"  said  Eva  petulantly,  "  that  we 
had  stayed  at  Borrisdeane." 

It  was  too  much.  Moira  suddenly  leant  against  a 
door-post  and  wept  aloud — bitterly — moving  Patsy  in 
a  passion  of  contrition  to  affirm  that  the  contrariness 
of  The  Star  would  surely  keep  her  alive,  and,  in  any 
case,  he'd  "  be  up  and  down  all  night  ready  to  bate  her 
whin  she  sthuck."  Moira's  grief  also  induced  one  of 
the  owners  of  the  donkey  carts  to  call  curses  from 
heaven  on  "  Misther  Guinane,  who'd  got  another  poor 
craythur  to  take  the  house." 

This  man,  a  kindly,  grey-bearded  old  person  with 
benevolence  and  love  of  porter  striving  for  mastery 
in  his  old  face,  further  recounted  many  things :  how 
no  one  could  keep  a  horse  in  the  stables, "  because  the 
clather  on  the  road'd  drive  'em  mad."  How  the 
Trevennas  and  many  others  had  left  and  sought 


56  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

better  lodgment ;  and  how  the  house  belonged  to 
Mr.  Guinane  himself,  and,  save  for  the  lack  of 
officers'  wives,  "  who  musht  live  some  place,  'd  niver 
be  let  at  all."  But  James  Dunne  was  a  blessing, 
not  in  disguise.  With  the  quick  kindliness  of  his 
race  he  took  the  girls  under  his  wing ;  wrangled 
with  the  owners  of  the  other  carts,  and  arranged 
payment  with  words  of  contempt ;  sped  forth  into 
the  night  and  returned  with  milk  ;  drove  the  other 
men  to  carry  in  all  the  bundles  to  their  allotted 
places,  and  finally,  gathering  coal  and  wood,  lighted 
a  fire  in  the  little  sitting-room,  diffusing  a  pleasant 
odour  of  turf  smoke  and  porter  as  he  invoked 
deeper  curses  on  the  agent  for  omitting  to  "put  a 
match  to  the  grates." 

When  firelight  flickered  on  the  little  room,  and  the 
curtains  were  drawn,  and  Biddy  produced  hot  bread, 
eggs,  and  bacon,  and  tea,  the  world  grew  less  desolate. 
They  sat  down  to  eat  hungrily,  while  Biddy,  who 
declared  she  was  glad  to  find  "  one  dacent  soul  in 
foreign  parts,"  bade  James  Dunne  to  share  her  supper. 
The  frizzle  of  bacon  and  hiss  of  frying  eggs  told  that 
Mr.  Dunne's  virtue  had  not  gone  unrewarded, 
cementing  a  friendship  which  did  not  prove  fleeting, 
and  proved  profitable  to  both  sides. 

Strong  tea,  warm  fire,  and  bright  light  rubbed  out 
discomfort.  Moira  forgot  her  tears,  and  let  her 
tongue  run  riot  After  all,  the  size  of  the  rooms  did 
not  matter.  The  stables  could  be  arranged.  In 
flights  of  golden  fancy  she  pictured  the  future  they 
would  make ;  the  cheques  which  must  come  for  The 
Star  and  Gog  ;  the  inevitable  success  which  must  be 
theirs,  and  the  strangers  they  would  meet — and  then 


Ballydare  57 

her  voice  ceased,  for  she  seemed  to  see  a  quiet 
figure  with  its  face  turned  away  to  distant  mist- 
capped  hills. 

Rest,  elusive  and  scarcely  satisfactory,  was  sought 
upon  hard  mattresses  and  springless  beds,  broken 
also  by  the  faithfulness  of  Patsy,  as  thrice  during  the 
night  he  tramped  forth  waving  his  lantern  and  abjuring 
The  Star  for  the  love  of  God  above  not  to  lie  down  on 
him  and  be  killed.  "  Tisn't  for  yerself  I'd  care,"  he 
was  heard  to  declaim  the  third  time,  unaware  that 
Moira's  anxious  eyes  peered  from  her  window  upon 
his  scanty  costume.  "  But  for  poor  Miss  Moira  within, 
that's  fool  enough  to  like  ye,  ye  divil " — the  last 
staccato  words  being  induced  by  bitter  memory  of 
many  injuries  and  a  sudden  leap  to  avoid  a  weary 
kick  directed  at  him  by  the  grey  mare. 

Then  Moira  went  to  sleep,  to  dream,  not  of  glitter 
and  money-making,  but  of  a  flying  train  which  took 
her  backwards,  ever  backwards,  to  a  land  of  crested 
seas,  of  purple  hills,  and  a  streak  of  silver  water,  into 
which  she  fell  while  a  tweed-clad  man  with  a  landing 
net  put  it  over  her  head,  and  cried  "  folly  "  as  he 
dragged  her  out. 

Joy  cometh  in  the  morning.  It  was  absent  at  The 
Beeches,  Ballydare,  on  October  8th.  There  was 
scant  comfort  in  the  early  shrilling  of  Patsy,  heard 
through  a  mist  of  sleepiness,  that  "the  grey  had 
scrhaps  med  of  her  sthall  kickin'  it,  and  'twas  Gog 
that  was  down  and  couldn't  get  up,"  scanter  still  as 
the  naked  hideousness  of  the  little  house  stood  forth 
with  almost  indecent  emphasis  in  the  morning  light. 
Mr.  Guinane  was  evidently  a  thrifty  man  :  where 
money  could  be  spared  he  spared  it.  The  furniture 


58  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

of  the  bedrooms  (two  on  the  ground  floor  and  one 
up  a  boarded  ladder,  called  a  staircase)  clearly 
emanated  from  different  auctions,  and  had  been 
the  odd  lots  there  even  then.  Cracked,  fly-blown 
looking-glasses  ;  deal  tables  plastered  over  with 
white  paint  ;  scraps  of  sodden  carpet  on  dusty 
floors ;  rusty  beds  and  broken  chairs.  They  had 
never  recognised  that  Aunt  Martha's  home  was 
pretty,  that  their  eyes  from  childhood  had  opened  on 
to  the  mellowness  of  satin-wood  and  deep-coloured 
mahogany,  all  of  which  had  passed  unnoticed  and 
unappreciated. 

The  little  angular  drawing-room  had  been  a  nest 
of  deep  couches  and  old  cosy  chairs,  all  rosy  soft-hued 
chintz  and  downy  cushions.  Here  the  barrenness 
was  faintly  hidden  by  the  cheapest  cretonne,  black 
and  staring  pink  ;  four  high-backed  chairs  were  of 
kitchen  origin,  and  proved  to  be  stuffed  with  hay, 
and  the  others,  of  yellow  wicker,  resented  occupation 
with  hideous  creaks,  while  the  dirty  walls  were 
scarred  and  streaked  where  the  soldier  tenants' 
pictures  and  china  had  hung. 

The  dining-room  was  modest  in  dingy  browns,  and 
the  chimney  smoked.  Judging  by  the  atmosphere 
and  the  smuts,  it  had  commenced  with  a  vigour 
worthy  of  a  week's  rest ;  now  it  was  languid  and  even 
sly,  waiting  quietly  until  a  Miss  Considine  came  to 
warm  herself,  and  then  puffing  a  cloud  of  evil-smelling 
foulness  into  her  face. 

Biddy,  who  looked  years  older,  and  was  sneezing 
vigorously,  observed  that  she  was  on  her  knees  for 
an  hour  before  it,  and  also  delivered  a  message  from 
Patsy,  saying  "  the  mare  was  safe,  but  was  coughing 


Ballydare  59 

like  an  ingin  and  wouldn't  ate  a  taste  of  oats  ;  further, 
that  they  needn't  come  out,  for  he  had  Gog  bate  up 
on  his  legs." 

It  needed  many  golden  dreams  to  keep  the  Miss 
Considines  merry  as  they  got  through  breakfast. 
Strawberry  or  her  cream  belonged  to  Borrisdeane  ; 
they  must  drink  milk,  watery  and  blue,  in  their  tea. 
The  bacon  was  from  across  the  seas,  the  butter  was 
bad.  China,  as  the  furniture,  had  been  accepted 
and  unnoticed  at  Lake  Cottage.  The  breakfast  set 
they  had  left  behind  was  Lowestoft,  all  strewn  with 
little  roses — a  joy  to  see.  They  held  the  thick 
blue-and-white  cups  of  Mr.  Guinane's  choosing 
fastidiously,  and  the  constant  rumble  of  coal  carts 
outside  brought  sad  memories  of  the  liquid  lapping 
of  the  lake. 

Yet  the  very  deepness  of  discomfort  induced 
reaction.  They  banded  their  hopes  for  the  future 
together,  and  tried  to  make  the  best  of  it  all. 
Money,  a  little  money — here  Eva  sighed — would  make 
the  house  habitable.  Moira  made  her  way  to  the 
stables  and  Eva  to  the  kitchen. 

The  Star  had  saved  a  carpenter  some  work.  Her 
small  stall  was  in  ruins,  and  she  shivered  dejectedly, 
looking  pensively  at  her  feed  of  oats.  Patsy, 
writing  laboriously,  was  busy  upon  a  list  of  his  wants. 
By  taking  down  and  building  up,  room  could  be 
made— the  slates,  which  showed  the  sky,  must  be 
lined  ;  there  were  no  mangers.  Moira,  never  dreaming 
of  applying  to  the  agent,  who  was  really  owner,  wrote 
it  all  down.  The  timely  arrival  of  James  Dunne 
relieved  her  of  much  anxiety. 

Mr.  Dunne,  who,  when  he  was  sober,  was  apparently 


60  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

master  of  all  trades,  arrived  to  see  how  they  were. 
He  could  carpenter,  he  could  slate ;  he  peered  at  the 
gaps,  and  politely  wished  Mikey  Guinane  a  night's 
rest  below  them  in  the  rain.  With  small  respect  for 
The  Star's  heels,  he  measured  and  calculated,  and 
promised  that  the  grey  should  rest  that  night  without 
fear  of  injury,  also  hoping  that  she  might  not  die, 
for  he  "  minded  wonst,  whin  workin'  out  with  Sir 
Ralph,  the  old  masther  of  hounds,  to  hear  a  horse 
cough  like  that,  and,  faix,  the  dogs  ate  her.  'Twas 
newmonnicey,  the  docthor  said ;  but  if  one  didn't 
know  that  complaint  you'd  say  she  was  wrong  of 
her  lungs." 

He  recommended  mustard  on  The  Star's  throat, 
having  first  invited  himself  to  dinner,  and  departed 
for  wood,  and  nails,  and  putty,  and  holdfasts,  and 
many  other  things  which  seemed  exceedingly  ex- 
pensive, for  all  goods  bought  by  James  Dunne  must 
pay  their  toll  of  porter. 

It  was  a  weary  morning.  Patsy  got  mustard  into 
his  eye  and  very  little  on  The  Star's  throat.  The 
lanky,  weak  brute  was  removed  to  the  cold  comfort 
of  the  passage,  and  shivered  miserably,  refusing 
all  food.  There  was  no  one  except  James  Dunne 
to  direct  or  advise.  Fitzwygram  was  not  yet 
unpacked. 

Eva,  in  the  kitchen,  was  in  no  better  plight.  With 
gloomy  decision  Biddy  reeled  forth  her  list  of  wants : 
saucepans,  kettles,  frying-pans,  baking-sheets.  The 
kitchen  seemed  to  have  been  provided  with  the  same 
carefulness  as  the  rest  of  the  house,  and  anything 
which  hadn't  got  a  hole  in  it  was  far  too  rusty  ever 
to  be  used. 


Bally  dare  61 

"  Scorched,  I  am,"  said  Biddy,  whose  eyelids  were 
red,  "  iviry  time  I  walk  between  the  table  and  the 
fire.  An  whin  I  wint  to  move  the  table  back,  sure  'tis 
nelt  firm  an'  sthiff  to  the  flure.  An'  upstairs,  Miss  Eva, 
I'm  sleeping  with  the  sparrows  undther  the  eves,  with  a 
wind  that'd  dhrive  ships  across  me  face.  I'd  sind 
Patsy  there,  but  he  says  he  has  to  be  near  the  horses. 
An'  sorra  the  bit  of  cabbage  in  the  garding,  or  even  a 
sthalk  of  parsley,  and  oh,  Miss  Eva,  Miss  Eva,  why 
did  we  come  here  at  all  ? " 

Eva,  comforting  Biddy,  echoed  the  words.  The 
sparrows'  nest  must  be  settled,  the  pots  and  pans 
purchased,  the  stables  re-made.  Moira's  dream  of 
success  was  not  all  as  it  should  be.  This  constant, 
sordid  paying  had  no  part  in  it.  Eva,  crying  a  little 
also,  yet  afraid  to  show  defeat  so  early,  said  it  would 
all  be  well. 

"  There  will  be  things  to  go  to,  Biddy — balls  and 
parties.  Miss  Moira  and  Miss  Kathleen  would  never 
have  gone  out  at  Borrisdeane,"  she  said,  sniffing. 

"  Young  men  they're  lookin'  for,"  said  Biddy, 
grimly  truthful,  scrubbing  her  one  frying-pan.  "  Hadn't 
ye  thim  same  where  ye  came  from,  and  no  money  to 
pay  to  see  thim  ?  " 

The  extreme  truth  of  this  last  remark  sent  Eva 
away  and  out  into  the  front.  The  presents  from 
Borrisdeane  had  provided  them  with  provisions  for 
to-day,  but  she  must  go  to  the  town  and  order  for  the 
morrow.  She  went  out  the  narrow  door  and  looked 
about  her.  A  strip  of  unkempt  grass,  pock-marked 
by  empty  flower-beds,  represented  the  fine  lawn  ;  a 
further  strip  the  field.  The  garden  was  a  patch  of 
the  size  of  the  yard,  and  the  constant  rumble  of  the 


62  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

carts  outside  came  with  a  monotonous  jar  of  unrest. 
Further  off,  bugles  shrilled  calls,  and  some  one 
practised  discordantly,  evidently  endeavouring  to  learn 
some  tune.  Moira  joined  her,  and  Kathleen,  who 
had  allowed  her  elders  to  bear  the  burden  of  thought 
while  she  unpacked,  came  out  also. 

There  were  no  mountains  at  Ballydare.  The 
country  stretched  in  humping  greenness,  sometimes 
rising  to  a  slight  hill ;  but  there  was  no  frown  of 
purple  nests,  mist-hooded  or  cut  clear  and  dark  ;  no 
lap  of  waters  as  they  shivered  through  the  reeds ; 
no  distant  boom  of  mighty  waves.  This  was  inland, 
flat  and  tame.  They  could  see  the  barracks  to  the 
right ;  a  walk  to  the  gate  showed  the  town,  nestling 
in  the  hollow  about  the  river.  This  new  world  had 
nothing  grand  about  it  after  all.  Some  ideas  of  fine 
buildings,  tall  spires,  and  bustle  of  life  and  prosperity 
vanished  as  the  dream  of  The  Beeches  had  gone,  but 
looking,  they  said  nothing  about  it. 

"  We  must  go  into  the  town."  Moira,  brushing 
straws  from  her  tangled  head,  pointed  to  the  grey 
houses.  "  Write  a  cheque,  Eva,  for  Patsy  wants 
loads  of  things." 

"  And  so  does  Biddy,"  said  Eva,  sighing. 

Kathleen,  from  the  background,  said  she  thought 
Mr.  Guinane  could  not  be  a  nice  man.  Her  senti- 
ment was  echoed  by  the  returning  James  Dunne,  now 
a  little  mellow  from  porter,  who  observed  that  "  thim 
that  had  dalins'  with  Mike  Guinane'd  be  glad  to 
have  their  next  ones  with  the  divil  himself  for  chice. 
Didn't  he  casht  me  out  of  a  house,"  burst  out 
James,  revealing  the  true  reason  for  his  bias,  "  and 
I  payin'  what  I  could  for  it  iviry  year?  Nivir  an 


Bally  dare  63 

hour's  good  I  done  since,  for  the  loss  ov  it  wint 
to  me  heart."  Here,  having  wiped  his  eyes,  Dunne 
directed  them  to  the  town,  gloomily  wished  that 
Mike  Guinane's  back  was  one  of  the  boards  he  was 
about  to  drive  the  nails  through,  and  passed  on  to 
his  work. 

"  We  shall  put  on,"  said  Moira,  "  our  best  dresses. 
We  shall  get  down  about  twelve.  There  will,"  went 
on  Moira,  with  the  air  of  one  talking  of  Bond  Street, 
"  be  lots  of  people  about  then." 

The  simultaneous  diving  of  three  heads  into  three 
trunks  was  soon  followed  by  the  appearance  of  three 
young  women  robed  severally  in  purple,  grey,  and 
mauve,  each  garment  being  very  much  be-ribboned 
and  be-trimmed  to  a  suggestion  of  smartness  not 
altogether  suitable  to  the  country.  Crowned  by  three 
steepling  hats  of  the  latest  and  most  curious  fashion, 
and  embellished  by  three  great  fluffy  boas,  the  three 
Miss  Considines,  inwardly  quaking  lest  they  should 
not  be  smart  enough,  looked  as  if  they  were  leaving 
for  some  festive  gathering.  Their  radiance  elicited  a 
"  Glory  be  "  from  Patsy  and  a  "  God  save  yer  pretty 
faces  "  from  Mr.  Dunne,  who  was  now  working  hard. 
This  was  all  as  it  should  be,  and,  with  rustle  of  silk 
and  trot  of  high  heels,  they  set  forth  to  meet  their 
fate. 

The  road  to  the  town  was,  unfortunately,  muddy ; 
it  was  worse  when,  directed  by  some  friendly  carters, 
they  turned  aside  by  the  walls  of  the  barracks,  and 
went  down  a  filthy,  footpathless  lane,  where  the 
utmost  care  could  not  save  their  skirts.  It  seemed  to 
be  the  home  of  soldiers'  wives,  for  many  children  and 
scraps  of  uniforms  overflowed  from  the  narrow  door- 


64  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

ways,  and,  as  they  passed,  curious  women  coming  out 
to  look  wafted  from  lip  to  lip  audible  comments  as 
to  the  three  being  the  Gillespies. 

Moira  took  occasion  to  point  out  that  they  were 
mistaken  for  some  of  the  salt  of  Ballydare's  earth. 
"  The  nice  people  must  dress  just  as  we  do,"  she  said 
proudly,  straightening  her  plumed  hat.  "Oh,  we  shall 
have  a  great  time  here  !  " 

They  wriggled  through  a  disobliging  turnstile,  and 
walked  by  the  side  of  the  Dare  as  it  slipped  between 
low  banks  to  the  distant  sea. 

But  the  town,  the  glitter  of  shop  windows,  the  buzz 
of  motors,  the  bustle  of  life  came  not 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Eva  slowly,  "  that,  after  all,  it  is 
not  a  large  place." 

Moira  said  sharply  that  it  must  be ;  it  was  a 
hunting  centre  ;  it  was  written  of  in  Dublin  Society ; 
yet  as  they  crossed  an  old  stone  bridge  and  turned 
into  a  narrow  street,  Ballydare  fell  upon  them  with 
a  wet  gloom  deeper  than  that  of  The  Beeches.  A 
little  dirty,  straggling  place  of  one  street,  no  finer, 
not  even  so  fine,  as  Tramee,  where  they  had  bought 
their  mourning.  The  same  smattering  of  grocers' 
dusty  windows,  the  same  dreary  little  drapers',  with 
the  year-old  blouses  displayed  on  tottering  stands, 
the  same  medley  of  country  people  drifting  along  the 
centre  of  the  road. 

The  pavement  was  not  wide  enough  to  hold  them 
abreast,  as,  in  their  finery,  they  rustled  along,  staring 
eagerly  about  them.  But  heads  were  turned  as  they 
passed.  A  woman  in  a  pony-trap  spoke  to  the  shop- 
man where  they  had  made  some  purchases,  evidently 
asking  their  names  —  a  handsome  woman,  heavily 


Ballydare  65 

veiled,  with  a  red-faced  boy  of  about  twenty  beside 
her. 

What  she  said  was  "  Impossible,"  with  a  shrug  of 
her  shoulders  ;  but  Moira,  winking  at  her  first  spotted 
veil,  took  it  for  unbounded  admiration. 

Ballydare,  as  it  shopped,  quietly  shook  its  respect- 
able head  :  coats  and  skirts  and  plain  caps  looked 
askance  at  the  rustle  of  unsuitable  finery.  Moira, 
staring  about  her,  saw  signs  of  opulence  ;  a  big  motor 
warred  with  the  donkey  carts,  and  the  pony-trap 
which  they  had  first  noticed  was  one  of  exceeding 
smartness. 

Moira  observed  their  occupants  as  future  callers  ; 
she  said  airily  that  people  in  motors  would  suit  best, 
as  they  had  no  spare  stable.  The  feeling  of  causing 
remark,  the  novelty  of  silken  linings,  brought  a  wave 
of  extravagance  in  its  train.  They  went  into  the 
better-looking  shops,  and  ordered  what  they  wanted, 
with  a  calm  disregard  of  the  cost. 

Eva's  gentle  voice,  as  she  gave  her  name,  made  the 
owner  of  the  motor,  purchasing  at  the  same  time,  look 
at  them  with  inquiry  in  her  eyes. 

"  A  charming  accent,"  said  Mrs.  Knox  to  her  fat 
husband.  "  I  must  go  to  see  them  if  any  one  else 
calls." 

Patsy  required  hay  and  straw  and  oats  ;  blissful 
minutes  were  spent  talking  to  the  affable  purveyor  of 
horse  food.  He  appeared  to  have  nothing  to  do,  and 
talked  of  hunting  with  a  ready  tongue  ;  told  them 
they  would  see  sport  over  a  fine  grass  country,  and 
pointed  out  two  or  three  leading  lights  who  happened 
to  pass  by. 

The  lady  in  the  pony-trap  was  Mrs.  Vereker,  of 

5 


66  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Knock  Castle.  Oh,  very  rich  entirely,  and  hunting 
every  day  hounds  met.  The  young  gentleman  with 
her  was  her  only  son.  The  stout  lady  in  the  motor 
was  Mrs.  Knox  ;  she  rode,  too. 

"  And — aren't  there  some  people  called  Gillespie 
here  ?  "  asked  Moira. 

Mr.  Foley  couldn't  call  his  mind  to  them.  And, 
then,  there  was  Mister  Moroney,  the  Master,  passing 
now. 

A  rush  of  be-plumed  heads  came  nearer  the  door  to 
gaze  at  this  wondrous  being.  A  little  thin  man,  with 
a  keen,  melancholy  face,  shuffling  along  as  if  a  great 
deal  of  him  was  broken,  as  he  trundled  a  bicycle 
down  the  muddy  road. 

Mr.  Foley  gave  a  description  of  the  M.F.H.'s 
prowess  which  might  have  made  his  ears  burn. 

"  He  does  be  at  the  finces  as  if  they  was  good  to 
eat,"  said  the  seller  of  forage,  "  and  into  thim  or  over 
thim  'tis  all  one  to  him.  Such  courage  was  nivir 
seen.  An'  he's  as  pleasant  spoken  an'  quiet,  but  if 
you  were  to  lep  on  one  of  his  dogs,  as  innocent  as 
you'd  be,  you'd  be  better  underground  than  listinin' 
to  the  remarks  he'd  pass  on  you.  I  did  it  mesilf 
once,"  said  Foley,  sighing,  "An"  he  came  a  week 
later  to  buy  hay,  and  whin  he  chose  it  I  asked  him  if 
the  dog  was  dead.  '  If  'twas,'  says  he,  snappin'  his 
mouth — '  if  'twas,  'tis  matches  I'd  have  here  to-day 
instead  of  a  cheque,'  says  he.  'That  was  Cornet,'  says 
he,  'you  jumped  on,  an'  if  my  breath  hadn't  given  out, 
I'd  have  said  a  few  things  to  you.  .  .  .'  An'  I  to  go 
away  after  five  minutes,  afraid  they'd  be  notin'  the 
words  he  used  against  him  at  the  judgment,"  finished 
Foley  sadly. 


Ballydare  67 

Donough  Moroney  had  paused  to  speak  to  a 
friend,  so  they  still  watched  him.  He  represented 
to  Moira  the  future  owner  of  The  Star ;  so,  connecting 
the  two,  she  gave  a  description  of  her  precious  mare 
which  caused  Mr.  Foley  to  blink  deferentially,  and 
to  inform  her  that  she  would  never  keep  such  a 
paragon. 

"  Misther  Moroney'll  buy  her,  miss,"  he  said  em- 
phatically ;  "  that  stamp  is  rare  now." 

As  Moira  had  carefully  described  a  combination  of 
a  Derby  winner,  a  chaser,  and  a  sixteen-stone  hunter, 
it  undoubtedly  was. 

"  The  queer  things  people  buys,"  said  Foley  con- 
temptuously, as  he  noted  the  order.  "  I  was  at 
Malleady's  forge  a  day  or  two  ago,  an'  I  saw  a  grey 
there  you'd  be  ashamed  of  in  a  weddin'  coach,  that 
they  said  was  a  lady's  hunter." 

Moira  stared  at  him  dubiously — a  twinge  of 
horrid  doubt  assailing  her — then  felt  it  could 
not  be. 

There  passed  then  two  girls  who  seemed  to  echo 
their  own  method  of  dressing — be-plumed  and  be- 
frilled,  with  long-tailed  gowns. 

"  And  who  are  those  people  ?  "  Eva  asked  eagerly. 

"Oh,  them's — them's  Geoghans,"  observed  Mr.  Foley 
curtly. 

The  three  were  very  happy,  as,  having  smelt  at 
and  chosen  hay,  they  left  the  sweet-smelling  barns 
for  the  dirty  streets. 

Biddy  had  requested  provisions,  and  the  purchase 
of  two  pounds  of  chops,  which  Eva  insisted  on  car- 
rying, seemed  a  descent  unworthy  of  the  day.  The 
butcher  had  looked  contemptuous. 


68  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

But  nothing  could  check  Moira's  tongue.  "  Wait 
until  they  sold  The  Star  for  two  hundred.  Why  not 
for  three?  I  might  get  anything  from  that  little 
Master  man.  Of  course  I  must  buy  another,"  she 
declaimed  ;  "  two  others  for  fifty  or  sixty  each. 
Real  beauties  like  The  Star,  and  then  when  I  sell 
those  their  price  will  keep  me  for  years." 

In  the  glory  of  her  fervid  imaginings  Moira  spun 
dervish-wise  upon  the  narrow  pavement,  striking  the 
parcel  of  chops  from  Eva's  hand  :  the  string  gave,  and 
the  neat  little  pieces  of  pink-and-white  mutton  were 
scattered  into  the  mud,  under  the  oncoming  front 
wheel  of  Donough  Moroney's  bicycle. 

He  splashed  off  on  to  the  dirty  road,  staring 
gloomily  first  at  the  chops  and  then*  at  the  crimson- 
cheeked  trio. 

"  Pick  'em  up  ? "  he  said  sadly.  I'm  afraid  he 
stirred  a  chop  with  a  thoughtful  toe.  "  Rather 
muddy,  eh?" 

He  looked  again  from  girls  to  chops,  from  plumed 
hats,  white  boas,  and  silken  frills,  to  the  five  pieces  of 
mutton  and  the  brown  paper,  until  unconquerable 
laughter  bubbled  and  surged  below  the  melancholy 
of  his  thin  face. 

Two  pouncing  curs  seized  the  chops  hungrily. 

"  That  settles  it.  Dinner  gone,"  said  Moroney, 
lifting  his  hat  and  speeding  on ;  but  they  could  see 
him  laugh.  As  Eva  wrestled  for  one  chop,  still  upon 
the  paper,  with  another  dog,  she  observed  that  -Mr. 
Vereker,  driving  past  slowly,  had  also  seen  the 
incident,  and  was  highly  amused. 

"  They'll  .  .  .  laugh  at  ...  Oh,  Eva,  how  could 
you  carry  them  ?  "  wailed  Moira. 


Ballydare  69 

Eva,  angrily  abandoning  her  last  piece  of  mutton, 
said  it  was  all  Moira's  fault,  with  her  horses  and  her 
hundreds.  She  also  declared  that  they  must  dine 
upon  eggs  and  bacon,  for  their  money  was  simply 
flying  at  this  rate. 

They  walked  on  dejectedly,  and  the  little  town  as 
they  passed  on  by  the  river  bank  seemed  to  shrink 
and  grow  meaner  and  less  like  the  world. 

Youth  is  fortunately  elastic.  As  they  reached  the 
turnstile  they  were  again  discussing  the  new  people 
they  had  seen. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Moira,  "  who  the  Gillespies  can 
be  ;  the  family  name,  perhaps,  of  the  Ballydares,"  she 
said,  with  the  pleased  air  of  one  who  has  solved  a 
problem. 

They  squeezed  through  the  turnstile  as  she  spoke. 
The  wall  opposite  was  disfigured  with  posters  and 
advertisements,  and  among  them,  flaring  in  gaudy 
yellow  and  blue  and  salmon,  the  figures  of  three 
girls  in  scanty  costume,  riding  several  horses  at 
once  into  a  pea-green  chasm  of  space.  It  was 
flanked  by  the  announcement  that  the  sisters  Gil- 
lespie,  the  celebrated  equestrians,  would,  with  others, 
perform  in  Machay's  circus  on  the  morrow  at  the 
market-place. 

The  name  seemed  to  step  out  and  smack  Moira 
hard  upon  the  cheek,  as  her  horrified  and  hasty 
method  of  turning  away  brought  it  to  the  attention 
of  her  sisters. 

They  said  nothing,  and  observing  a  muddy  and 
dilapidated  path  over  the  field,  with  one  accord 
ploughed  through  rather  than  again  face  the  com- 
menting eyes  of  the  soldiers'  wives  ;  but  the 


70  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

long-tailed  gowns  were  put  away  with  a  finality 
which  boded  ill  for  their  future  outings  in  the 
town. 

"  We  seem  fated  to  do  stupid  things  about  sheep," 
said  Eva,  as  they  ate  fried  eggs  with  a  hunger  which 
yearned  for  chops. 


CHAPTER   V 

SOME  SHEEP  AND  OTHER  THINGS 

r  I  ^HREE  days  were  spent  in  a  dusty,  hammering 
J_  chaos,  with  constant  rushes  to  the  town  by 
Patsy  for  things  forgotten,  and  with  seemingly  end- 
less arrivals  of  parcels,  and  a  scurry  of  wild  haste  lest 
the  rush  of  callers  should  arrive  before  they  were 
ready.  At  the  end  of  this  time  new  chintzes,  photo- 
graphs, and  cushions  had  transformed  their  bare 
rooms,  and  the  three  girls  drew  breath  and  looked 
happier.  The  cost,  entered  in  Eva's  book,  was  a 
thing  to  be  lightly  dwelt  on.  The  black  and  pink 
cretonne  was  eclipsed  ;  there  were  fresh  chairs  and 
new  tea-sets,  and  as  Kathleen  arranged  flowers  and 
tinted  leaves  the  little  square  drawing-room  was 
almost  pretty. 

Outside,  under  the  skilful  hands  of  Mr.  Dunne, 
who  now  dined  daily,  The  Star  and  Gog  were  safely 
housed,  the  slates  had  been  mended,  and  even 
Biddy  was  protected  from  draughts  by  her  new 
friend's  arrangement  of  what  he  termed  a  "  scre-an," 
nailed  over  with  sacks  and  the  old  carpets,  which 
had  been  replaced  by  rugs.  The  overtime  work- 
ing of  James  Dunne,  to  save  the  old  woman 


72  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

from  chill,  had  necessitated  both  tea  and  supper 
each  day. 

The  Star  recovered  rapidly ;  her  cough  proved  to 
be  what  Patsy  called  "  a  thing  of  nothing " ;  and 
Moira  suggested  a  ride.  The  newly  arrived  saddles 
were  adjusted,  declared  to  fit  well,  while  the  owners 
stood  to  admire.  The  Star  looked  lovely,  perfect. 
Moira  clasped  her  hands  in  something  approaching 
ecstasy  as  she  scanned  the  long,  weak  mare.  Gog — 
on  whom  the  new  saddle  was  a  mere  hint  of  leather, 
and  whose  smartness  was  marred  by  the  yellow 
straps,  too  short  to  meet,  being  secured  by  string — 
Eva  thought  that  Gog  must  really  be  worth  a  great 
deal  of  money ;  horses  up  to  his  height  were  not 
easy  to  find  out  hunting.  The  mighty  beast  squeezed 
his  placid  way  out,  and  stood  blinking  as  Eva  was 
flung  up  by  Patsy.  The  Star,  swishing  her  long 
tail,  followed.  Moira  cuddled  her  knees  about  the 
new  pommels  with  a  sigh  of  pride,  chattering 
triumphantly. 

"  How  they  would  hate  to  sell,  and  yet  they  must 
at  the  very  first  big  offer ;  they  could  not  afford  to 
be  sentimental  even  with  these  beauties.  How  lovely 
these  small  saddles  looked." 

The  horses  had  been  to  the  forge  the  day  before, 
and  the  vigour  of  her  speech  almost  drowned  milder 
murmurs  from  Patsy,  who  said  the  smith  "  was  unaisy 
about  the  mare's  foremosht  hind  tendon,  and  that  he 
had  declared  to  God  he'd  rather  shoe  a  soup-plate 
than  Gog's  foot." 

"  An  hour  he  was,"  said  Patsy,  as  he  circled  about 
them,  polishing  and  adjusting  with  true  pride  in  his 
horses,  "hating  iron  till  he  stretch  a  huntin'  shoe 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        73 

to  fit ;  and,  faith,  he  wouldn't  believe  me  at  first 
but  that  'twas  funnin'  I  was  whin  I  said  the  big 
horse  was  to  cross  country.  '  Isn't  he  up  to  great 
weight?'  says  I.  'He  is,  behind  him,'  says  he, 
short-like ;  an'  thin  I  up  and  tould  him  what  a 
lepper  he  was,  and  how,  whin  The  Sthar'd  be  fallin', 
Gog'd  sthand  above  clivir  and  sinsible,  and  nivir 
put  the  feet  astray.  '  They  make  the  fences  strong 
in  your  country,'  said  he,  jealous-like  for  we  to 
have  so  fine  a  horse.  An'  I  have  the  new  crub  bit 
on  The  Sthar,  Miss  Moira,  for  she  had  a  like  to 
kill  me  yesterday." 

Moira  took  up  the  double  reins  dubiously ;  her 
experience  had  not  lain  with  curbs.  She  was  far 
from  happy  in  the  flat,  neat  Champion  &  Wilton, 
with  its  lack  of  the  old-fashioned  rise  at  the  far 
side. 

The  mare  pranced  out  uneasily,  wincing  at  the  bit. 
A  month's  oats  had  wrought  havoc  in  her  wicked 
nature.  She  sidled  as  they  passed  a  cart,  humped  up 
her  long  back,  laid  back  her  ears,  and  decided  on 
mischief.  So  far,  her  only  outing  had  been  straight — 
the  broad  road,  and  on  to  the  forge  in  the  town. 
Moira  saw  a  narrow  lane  to  the  left,  just  beyond  the 
barracks,  and  suggested  turning  up  it.  The  Star 
thought  of  the  forge  ;  she  flicked  up  her  Roman  nose 
and  wheeled  back  towards  the  town.  Moira  turned 
her  sharply ;  the  grey  wheeled  again,  this  time 
with  short,  irritated  plunge.  Gog,  standing  still,  con- 
sidered the  mare  dispassionately  from  under  his  long 
lashes. 

"  She  seems  cross.  Oh !  go  on,"  cried  Moira, 
tightening  the  reins.  "  Patsy  has  been  spoiling  her," 


74  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Hit  her,"  suggested  Eva. 

Moira  took  up  her  whip.  A  trap  was  bowling 
swiftly  from  the  barracks,  and  this  scene  of  sulkiness 
was  not  to  be  before  strangers.  She  wrenched  sharply 
at  the  bridle  and  hit  hard,  a  stinging  blow  falling  on 
the  mare's  shoulder.  What  followed  was  confusion. 
A  sudden,  terrifying  sensation  of  sitting  on  nothing, 
of  clinging  wildly  to  a  grey  mane  while  angry  hoofs 
pawed  the  air,  and  The  Star  as  she  swayed  seemed 
about  to  topple  backwards.  Eva  wailed.  Gog 
cocked  one  ear.  One  of  the  men  jumped  from  the 
dogcart,  and  as  he  caught  the  bridle,  The  Star 
came  to  earth  with  a  sliding  jar,  pulled  down  by  a 
heavy  hand. 

"  She — oh  !  isn't  that  rearing  ? "  said  Moira,  still 
clinging  to  the  mare. 

A  man  in  grey  tweeds  said  it  was  something 
very  like  it  "  Not  only  that,  but  she  almost 
came  back,"  he  added  sharply.  "  Has  she  done  it 
before?" 

Moira  said  "  No "  indignantly.  "  She  merely 
wanted  to  go  again  to  the  forge.  You  see,  she's 
only  been  on  one  road,  and  doesn't  know  her 
way  here.  It  can't  be  vice,  because  she's  the 
gentlest " 

"  Brute ! "  ejaculated  the  rescuer  hastily ;  for  The 
Star,  rendered  peevish  by  restraint,  suddenly  caught 
him  by  the  arm,  and  tried  to  shake  him.  "  I'll  get 
her  at  the  side,"  he  remarked,  "and  hold  on  while  you 
get  fixed." 

The  rear  and  plunge  had  distinctly  disarranged 
Moira.  A  tail  of  sunny  hair  was  straggling  from 
under  her  sailor  hat ;  her  veil,  always  a  difficulty,  was 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things         75 

under  one  ear.  She  dropped  the  reins  and  put  up 
her  arms,  staring  as  she  did  so  at  the  stranger,  her 
eyes  full  of  excited  surmise. 

A  tall  fair  fellow,  excessively  neat  as  to  grey 
tweeds  and  white  collar ;  a  fatuous  expression  of 
content  with  himself  straying  from  his  mouth  to 
rather  heavy  cheeks,  his  eyes  expressing  little  save 
that  he  considered  the  world  a  fairly  decent  place  to 
contain  his  important  self;  one  of  the  men  who  did 
all  things  superlatively  just  before  he  essayed  them, 
and  who  could  always  coin  excuses,  completely 
satisfying  himself,  when  he  fell  short  of  fulfilling  his 
boasts.  After  dinner  and  fruity  port,  no  man  could 
keep  nearer  hounds,  shoot  more  birds,  or  do  more  to 
hint  down  other  men's  reputations  with  depreciative 
shoulders  and  mouth.  In  broad  daylight,  with 
hounds  running  mute  on  a  breast-high  scent,  or 
driven  birds  coming  down  wind,  Captain  Lancelot 
Milton  always  bestrode  a  bad  horse,  or  held  a  bad 
gun  to  his  shoulder.  Yet  great  is  the  power  of 
a  ready  tongue.  Many  people  accepted  him  at  his 
own  valuation.  Mr.  Stanley,  a  meek,  thin  youth, 
who  sat  quietly  in  the  dogcart,  commenced  to  talk 
to  Eva. 

"  This  is  not  a  lady's  horse."  Milton  kept  a 
wary  eye  on  The  Star's  teeth.  "  You — I  suppose 
you've  taken  The  Beeches.  We  heard  of  you. 
I'm  in  the  Midshires."  Here  he  introduced  himself 
with  difficulty,  as  The  Star  objected  to  doffed 
hats. 

"  She's  a  young  one,"  said  Moira  loftily.  "  We 
can't — we  like  them  untrained,  and  of  course  she's 
a  little  wild."  The  veil  wriggled  off  completely, 


76  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

giving  Milton  a  glimpse  of  a  merry,  mutinous  face 
and  shining  eyes,  filled  with  a  somewhat  awed 
admiration.  It  was  Moira's  first  introduction  to  what 
Biddy  called  "one  o'  thim  sodjer  min  like  ye're 
dada."  Visions  of  scarlet  uniforms,  of  clashing 
swords,  of  endless  gaiety,  and  flavour  of  unknown 
wickedness  circled  in  Moira's  brain.  She  was  realising 
her  dreams.  She  was  looking  into  the  eyes,  not  of 
Captain  Lancelot  Milton,  but  of  the  embodied  young 
men  she  had  conjured  up.  When  could  Ballydare 
have  produced  this  ? 

"One  must  ride  a  rearer  with  care,"  objured 
Milton.  "  I  had  one  once ;  cured  it  completely,  I 
assure  you.  I'll  ride  that  one  for  you,  if  you'll  let 
me,  some  day.  The  other  carried  me  top  hole  for 
years  after  I  bested  him."  He  spoke  with  kindly 
condescension. 

Eva  gently  remarked  that  when  Moira  had 
done  dressing  herself  she  thought  they  might 
move  on. 

Moira  took  up  the  reins  and  bent  forward 
eagerly.  She  hoped  Captain  Milton  would  come 
to  see  them — soon — they  would  be  at  home  in 
the  afternoon,  if  he  and  his  friend  would  come 
to  tea. 

Captain  Milton's  cheeks  became  even  more  fatuous, 
his  manner  still  more  condescending. 

He  was  full  of  engagements — bridge,  in  fact. 
Moira  blushed  a  little,  and  murmured,  "  Some  other 
time."  But  he  would  come,  he  and  Stanley,  to-morrow 
afternoon. 

"  Come,  oh  do,"  said  Moira  eagerly.  "  We've  been 
so  lonely — seen  no  one  yet." 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        77 

Milton  remarked  as  he  got  into  the  dogcart  that 
the  girl  was  simply  ripping  pretty,  and  likely  to  be 
some  fun.  Further,  that  he  s'posed  they'd  money  or 
they  couldn't  come  to  hunt  like  that  ;  and  he  drove 
on  to  his  luncheon  party  with  an  expression  marking 
thought  for  him. 

The  Star  now  proceeded  affably,  tossing  her  lean 
Roman  nose,  and  taking  roads  as  she  was  bidden,  but 
Eva  was  inclined  to  reproach  Moira  for  having  pressed 
two  young  men  to  come  to  see  them,  and  Moira, 
whose  high  spirits  had  risen  to  their  utmost,  was  more 
than  disposed  to  resent  this  check,  so  that  for  some 
time  the  ride  was  marred  by  strained  relations. 

Finally  Eva's  gentle  nature  melted  to  resignation 
and  an  acceptance  of  her  sister's  views,  and  then 
Moira's  fancy  winged  its  way  as  might  the  great 
Nulli  Secundus.  A  patch  of  gorse  set  dark  green 
in  low-lying  fields  brought  them  to  a  stand  ;  it  was 
their  first  view  of  a  fox  covert. 

They  left  the  road  by  a  low  stone  gap,  which  Gog 
scattered  in  ruins,  and  pulled  up  peering  into  the 
prickly  depths.  They  would  stand  here  later  ;  watch 
the  pack  pour  in,  not  through  ;  hear  the  first  whimper, 
which  sends  its  shock  through  the  field,  and  which 
makes  every  man  cram  down  his  hat,  tighten  his 
reins,  and  sit  waiting ;  the  whimper  taken  up  and 
echoed,  swelling  to  a  crashing  chorus ;  the  lifting  of 
the  whip's  cap  ;  the  long  shrill  of  the  "  Go-o-ne  away  "  ; 
the  bustle,  rush,  and  flurry  ere  hounds  settle  down, 
and  those  who  mean  to  ride  come  out  right  and  left, 
keen-eyed  and  alert,  while  the  others  melt  from  fence 
to  fence,  and  tail  away,  enjoying  themselves  in  their 
own  way. 


78  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

What  a  bank  that  was  to  the  left,  high  and 
green,  with  a  ditch  at  the  taking-off  side.  Moira 
peered  into  it  unhappily  ;  another  bank  beyond — 
a  built  gap  to  the  left  or  a  wide  rushy  water  jump. 
Ballydare  was  no  funker's  paradise.  There  were 
hedges  on  many  of  the  fences ;  thorns  growing 
blackly,  leaving  few  spaces  to  get  through,  so  that 
hounds  once  away  were  quickly  lost :  and  to  see  a 
hunt  one  must  make  no  delay.  Hunting  did  not 
seem  as  easy  a  thing  as  it  had  at  Borrisdeane. 
What  if  The  Star  fell  as  she  had  done  schooling  ; 
if,  after  all,  Moira  did  not  show  the  M.F.H.  the  way 
in  the  first  run. 

"  'Tis  full  up  of  thim,"  said  a  voice  close  by. 

They  started  to  see  a  man  had  come  across  the 
field  behind  them. 

"  Two  lithers,  no  less  within,  and  divil  a  hin  or  a 
turkey  safe  for  miles  round  since  the  pups  was  born 
Didn't  he — didn't  he  whip  a  gandther  from  Mrs 
Malone  but  yesterday,  and  she  feeding  thim  in  the 
morning?  Faith,  she's  away  to-day  to  lay  complaints 
to  the  Hunt.  Be  dam  to  the  vilyins." 

Moira  trusted  that  he  alluded  to  the  foxes,  but  felt 
doubtful. 

"  But  great  sport  it  is,"  he  continued,  "  sure  ye'd 
see  that  bank  there  foreninst  ye  with  tin  down 
at  it  ;  there's  a  cleared  ditch  outside  it.  I  cot 
three  horses  misilf  the  last  meet  here,  and  one 
the  Master's.  'Mat  Malone,'  says  he,  as  he  mountin', 
'  I'll  pay  ye  for  iviry  chicken  ye  lie  about,'  and 
away  wid  him  like  a  mother  cyar.  I  tell  ye  that 
was  a  hunt  an'  a  half.  Out  here  he  broke  across 
the  bank — signs  bye  we  dug  one  of  them  horses 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        79 

out — up  across  Cassidy's  and  pasht  on  to  the  trees," — 
his  ringer  pointed  to  a  fir  wood  some  five  miles  away — 
"and  down  again  this  way,  and  killed  him  just  by 
Clancy's  farm  across  the  river.  The  finest  hunt  for 
the  year,  I  tell  ye."  With  wide  eyes  they  followed 
the  line  up  the  swelling  slopes  to  the  dark  wood,  out 
again  to  the  silver  streak  of  water  and  the  slated  house 
beyond  it.  It  would  take  a  good  horse  to  gallop 
those  eight  or  nine  miles,  across  heavy  going,  closely 
fenced.  Moira  touched  The  Star's  thin  mane.  If  the 
blood  of  Solon  and  Victor  counted,  surely  her  mare 
could  do  it. 

With  bated  breath  she  told  Mat  Malone  how  they 
had  come  so  far  to  hunt :  how  they  had  never  seen 
fox  or  hounds,  or  ridden  across  a  country,  and  had 
bought  these  horses  to  do  it  on. 

"  Be  dam,  but  ye' re  great,"  he  remarked  earnestly. 
He  eyed  their  horses  with  an  intelligent  air.  "  An 
they  not  to  know  how  to  lep  either,"  he  concluded 
sadly,  "  half  an  hour  some  one'll  be  raisin'  the  wall 
they  levelled." 

As  The  Star  had  soared  over  some  two  feet  above 
the  stones,  Moira  burst  into  indignant  protests,  and 
explained  how  their  mounts  had  been  schooled  for 
many  days,  and  how  the  stone  knocking  was  merely 
Gog's  cleverness. 

"  There's  some  ye  couldn't  larn,"  said  Malone  easily, 
clearly  unimpressed. 

Eva,  turning  Gog  to  what  she  thought  might  be  a 
becoming  angle,  asked  Malone  if  he  was  not  a  mighty 
weight  carrier,  assuring  him  at  the  same  time  of 
Gog's  wondrous  jumping  powers,  his  deliberation,  his 
perfect  safety. 


8o  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Mr.  Malone  allowed  his  eye  to  travel  again 
from  the  ponderous  frame  down  to  the  ponderous 
limbs.  Scratching  his  head  thoughtfully,  he  re- 
marked that  he  feared  the  fields  would  be  the 
difficulty. 

Eva,  imagining  some  strange  trap  into  which  a 
heavy  horse  might  fall,  looked  at  the  grass  with 
distrust 

"  Crossing  them,"  explained  Malone.  "  Oh,  that 
soort  will  do  it  at  their  own  time,  but,  sure,  tisn't 
hounds'  time.  Size  isn't  all,  miss,"  he  added  kindly, 
"  as  maybe  the  man  that  sould  ye  him  left  a  dhray 
idle.  But,  sure,  there's  many  a  day  he  might  do  ye 
well.  Many  days  whin  the  smhell  is  slhack."  He 
looked  at  The  Star  again,  took  in  her  sidebones  and 
other  embellishments,  and  muttered  "  God  above 
us "  several  times,  as  if  it  relieved  him,  otherwise 
he  made  no  comment,  save  that  he  "  saw  a  mare 
like  that  to  hunt  at  Ballydare  once — one  day — not 
again." 

"  And  she  was  sold,"  cried  Moira  at  once.  She 
glanced  at  Eva. 

"  She  was  not,  but  killed,"  said  Malone  thoughtfully. 
"  Three  finces  from  here." 

"  Now,  I've  a  bit  of  a  cob  inside,"  he  went  on, 
nodding  towards  a  thatched  house  close  by.  "An' 
I'd  like  ye  to  see  him.  Begonnes,  if  ye'd  wait,  I'll  let 
ye  see  him  leppin'."  He  ran  off. 

They  waited  in  silence.  Weight  carriers,  it  became 
apparent,  must  be  something  more  than  large,  and  the 
simile  referring  to  the  mare  who  was  like  The  Star  had 
not  been  encouraging. 

"  He's  just  jealous,"  said  Moira  suddenly,  as  Mat 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        81 

Malone  reappeared,  riding,  with  consummate  skill,  an 
ugly  bay  brown  cob,  a  shade  over  fifteen  hands,  with 
a  big  knee,  fired  hocks,  half  a  dozen  bad  knocks, 
and  the  most  perfect  forehand  ever  seen  on  a  horse. 
Behind  the  saddle  he  was  light,  but  powerful.  Reins 
on  neck,  the  cob  came  flying  across  the  low  bank, 
and  for  the  next  few  minutes  the  Considines  saw 
a  series  of  ugly  fences  taken  in  perfect  style,  by  a 
perfectly  trained  hunter.  Prop  and  steady  at  the  big 
bank ;  on  it  with  an  easy  bound,  out  far  into  the  next 
field  with  hind  legs  well  under  him  ;  lightning  change 
on  a  high  grassy  fence ;  easy  fly,  with  just  a  rap  of 
ready  heels  over  the  stone  wall  ;  long  lurch  across 
the  water, — and  all  with  cocked  ears,  as  if  he  loved  it. 
This  was  fencing  as  it  should  be,  without  constant 
sounding  of  ditches  or  long  ruminations  on  each 
broad  bank. 

"  Sure's  he  med  to  do  it,"  said  Malone,  as 
he  pulled  the  little  horse  up.  "  There's  one  ye 
ought  to  have,  an'  none  of  yer  ploughboys  or 
sphiders." 

Neither  girl  would  for  worlds  have  owned  to  the 
other  the  sudden  deep  longing  to  abandon  hopes  of 
making  money,  and  to  possess  this  blemished  little 
beast :  the  big  green  fields  would  dwarf  then,  and  the 
thought  of  flying  to  that  distant  wood  be  a  joy  and 
not  a  menace. 

"  I  buys  an'  I  sells,"  remarked  Malone,  "  young 
horses,  not  the  class  of  this.  I  have  two  beauties 
within.  But  this  one,  sure  I  got  him  a  swhap  from 
Mrs.  Magee,  whose  son  ounded  him  ;  a  swhap  for 
an  ould  inside  cyar  I  had  whin  he  was  juist  afther 
kickin'  her  own  to  splinters  on  the  way  to  mass. 

6 


82  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

A  new  cloak  he  tore  on  her,  and  she  was  all  for 
getting  out  of  him.  An'  faix,  I  knew  there  wasn't 
such  a  lepper  from  this  to  Cork,  so  with  a  bit  more 
here  an'  there,  a  few  turnips,  an'  a  broken  saddle, 
I  got  him." 

Eva  dragged  her  eyes  from  the  cob,  and,  kicking 
Gog,  asked  Malone  if  they  would  not  find  it  very  easy 
to  sell  their  two  horses  down  here. 

"  An'  why  not  ?  "  he  said  pleasantly ;  "  why  not  ?  " 
thereby  comforting  Eva  greatly.  The  private  thoughts 
of  Mat  Malone,  which  dwelt  upon  a  farmer  and  a  hack 
car-driver,  were  his  own  affairs.  They  approached  the 
small  bank  and  put  the  horses  over  it,  Gog  acquitting 
himself  with  leisurely  perfection,  and  The  Star  putting 
her  head  up  and  flying  the  whole  thing  with  an 
awkward,  plunging  bound. 

"  Begonnes,  but  ye  are  great,"  said  Malone  thought- 
fully ;  and  having  again  scratched  his  head,  and  said 
"  God  above  us,"  he  informed  them  that,  "  afther  all, 
if  they  waited  the  gaps'd  be  levelled  and  the  banks 
thrampled  they  would  get  on."  Ere  they  had  time 
to  resent  this,  a  motor  came  panting  along  the  road, 
and  The  Star,  with  a  squeal  of  anguish,  first  reared 
and  then  flew  three  times  round  the  field,  only 
restrained  with  great  difficulty  from  jumping  the 
big  bank  or  rushing  over  the  high  stone  wall.  The 
motor  was  pulled  up,  and,  as  The  Star  subsided, 
Eva  was  riding  forward  to  thank  the  occupants,  when 
she  observed  that  they  were  not  looking  at  her,  but 
at  a  stream  of  white-woolled  sheep  which  were,  one 
by  one,  trailing  out  on  to  the  road  over  the  ruins 
of  the  stone  gap.  The  lady  sitting  by  the  driver  was 
gesticulating  furiously. 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        83 

"  That's  Mrs.  Vereker,  of  Knock  Castle,  and  thim's 
her  prize  sheeps  what  ye're  let  out,"  said  Mat  Malone 
softly ;  "  they  do  kape  thim  here  till  the  huntin'  com- 
mences." With  an  uncanny  swiftness  he  had  melted 
to  the  far  side  of  the  small  bank,  and  was  smiling 
pleasantly. 

Eva,  gasping,  suggested  his  helping  to  turn  the 
flock. 

"  Faix,  we  didn't  sphake  these  five  year  pasht," 
said  Malone  genially ;  "  since  Mrs.  Vereker  turned 
me  out  of  the  covert  keepin'  and  the  land. 
So  let  her  catch  her  own  sheeps,  an'  divil  mend 
her."  Here  bidding  them  "  good  morning,"  he 
rode  off. 

The  Considines'  horrified  eyes  beheld  the  unavailing 
efforts  of  a  solitary  young  man  to  surround  and  drive 
back  the  "sheeps,"  and  their  ears  heard  all  too  plainly 
the  rasping  directions  and  comments  of  the  lady,  who 
remained  in  the  car. 

Moira,  having  calmed  The  Star,  timidly  proffered 
help — an  offer  marred  by  the  fact  that  no  power  on 
earth  would  induce  the  grey  mare  to  pass  the  throbbing 
car. 

From  the  muffling  depths  of  a  motor-veil,  a 
cruelly  chill  voice  delivered  some  opinions  on 
knocking  down  fences  leading  to  a  road — heard 
indistinctly,  as  The  Star  darted,  plunging  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  car  and  was  brought  back,  and 
all  lost  by  Eva,  who  urged  her  mighty  steed  on 
to  help. 

As  Moira,  for  the  third  time,  brought  The  Star  within 
speaking  distance,  Mrs.  Vereker  half  turned,  raking 
the  girl  with  goggled  eyes.  "  I  presume  you  are  one 


84  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

of  the  Miss  Considines,"  she  said,  and  having  delivered 
herself  of  this  remark  made  no  further  comment  or 
reply  to  Moira's  explanations. 

Twenty  sheep,  when  pursued  by  a  girl  on  a  horse 
and  an  over-hasty  young  man,  take  time  to  collect. 
The  woolly  brutes  huddled  with  maddening  meekness 
against  gates  ;  then,  when  collected,  suddenly  dis- 
cover a  gap  and  vanish  in  white  and  obstinate  line 
through  it  into  some  forbidden  field ;  they  would 
gather,  foolish-faced,  upon  the  road,  and,  when 
driven,  scatter  past  the  right  turn  and  rush  up  a 
lane- way  there,  as  if  they  had  at  last  discovered  the 
way  they  were  wanted  to  go.  It  was  half  an  hour 
before  Dennis  Vereker,  a  loose-jointed  young  fellow 
with  a  pleasant  red  face,  returned  in  triumph,  Gog 
tramping  magnificently  by  his  side  and  the  sheep 
wobbling  in  front. 

By  this  time  he  and  Eva  were  quite  old  friends, 
shrieking  breathless  directions  to  each  other  and  bitter 
wishes  at  the  sheep.  As  they  came  down  to  the  car, 
Dennis  explained  confidentially  that  he  would  never 
have  caught  them  alone,  and  also  that  he  feared  his 
mater  was  simply  furious.  He  shyly  indicated  a 
notice-board  warning  trespassers.  "  They  left  these 
prize  sheep  up  here  and  drove  up  to  look  at  them 
almost  every  day." 

"  A  board  which  I  think  you  might  have  seen,"  said 
Mrs.  Vereker  suddenly,  seeing  her  son  point  to  the 
square  of  lettered  timber.  She  addressed  Moira,  and 
without  warning  backed  the  motor  to  allow  the  sheep 
to  go  in. 

At  this  fresh  terror  The  Star,  who  had  subsided  to  a 
grass-munching  quiet,  felt  she  had  endured  enough. 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        85 

She  turned  round  and  kicked  the  car  accurately,  the 
crash  of  iron-shod  hoofs  splintering  something  being 
too  apparent  to  be  overlooked. 

Apologies  were  received  in  stony  silence,  and  to 
remain  where  they  were  was  to  court  further  disaster, 
so  the  two  rode  dejectedly  away,  leaving  Dennis 
Vereker  toiling  at  rebuilding  the  wall,  while  his 
mother  boomed  in  fury. 

"  We  seem  fated  to  do  foolish  things  in  con- 
nection with  mutton,"  said  Eva  sadly.  "  It  was 
only  foolishness,  and  Mrs.  Vereker  might  have  been 
civil." 

Moira  said  nothing.  She  was  ruminating  on 
that  sudden  acknowledgment  of  whom  they  were, 
made  in  a  tone  which  implied  that  the  dis- 
covery of  their  names  implied  explanation  of  any 
offence. 

They  rode  home  through  a  narrow  lane,  past  a 
wood  running  up  steeply  to  the  right — another  fox- 
covert,  had  they  known  ;  past  a  hillside  of  bracken, 
glowing  brown  and  golden  and  faded  green,  and  then 
turning  downwards,  found  their  way  to  the  broad  road 
leading  back  to  their  new  home.  Ballydare,  as  they 
looked  towards  it,  lay  plunged  in  a  tender  haze  of 
mist,  its  house-tops  rising  dimly,  the  spires  of  the  old 
abbey  and  the  chapel  clear  cut  in  the  higher  air — a 
dull  and  dirty  little  town,  crouched  by  the  wide 
salmon  stream.  The  barracks,  a  gloomy  lump  of 
brown  buildings,  stood  out  to  the  east ;  the  song 
of  the  practising  bugler  came  in  faint  discordance. 
At  either  side  the  country  stretched  tamely,  fine  in 
its  slopes  and  valleys  from  a  sportsman's  point  of 
view,  with  nothing  to  stop  the  hounds  or  horses,  but 


86  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

otherwise  with  no  beauty  :  no  swell  of  mighty  hills,  no 
break  of  crag  and  butting  rock,  no  thunder  of  distant 
surf  on  a  rock-bound  shore.  Instinctively  they  pulled 
the  horses  up,  looking  down  at  the  land  they  had 
come  to. 

"  I  wonder  " — Eva  let  the  reins  fall  on  Gog's  great 
neck — "  I  wonder,  Moira,  if  one  ever  gets  anything  by 
trying  too  hard  for  it."  Moira  understood  so  well 
that  her  "  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ? "  was 
exceedingly  gruff. 

"  We  have  come  so  far  to  find  fun  and  pleasure. 
We  have  engaged,  as  it  were,  to  do  so  much.  Will 
it  all  be  here  :  dances,  parties,  charming  young 
men  ?  "  Eva's  face  contracted.  "  Will  they  be  all  we 
hope  for,  Moira  ?  We  have  not  begun  well ;  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  have  not  bought  a  plough  horse  and  you 
a  brute.  No  one  has  come  to  call  upon  us.  For  the 
young  men " 

Moira  broke  in  with  indignant  protest.  They 
had  met  no  fewer  than  three  to-day.  Where  in 
Borrisdeane  would  they  come  across  so  charming 
a  personality  as  that  of  Captain  Milton,  so  distinctly  a 
man  of  the  world? 

"  I  wouldn't  compare  him  with  the  Hermit,"  said 
Eva  slowly. 

"With  the  Hermit!"  Yet  Moira's  shrill  ot  con- 
tempt trailed  and  died.  "  The  Hermit,  the  shabby " 

the  quiet,  blue-eyed  face  seemed  to  look  up  at  her 
and  reproach  her.  The  worn  tweeds,  after  all,  had 
never  been  shabby.  Moira  shrugged  her  shoulders 
as  her  voice  failed  her,  and  something  caught  at  her 
throat. 

"  The  Hermit  was  reliable  ;  he  would  have  known 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        87 

what  to  do  for  The  Star's  cough,  would  have  helped 
us  in  so  many  ways,"  went  on  Eva. 

Moira  took  up  the  "  crub  "  bit — a  proceeding  The 
Star  resented  exceedingly — and  they  rode  on.  The 
unexpected  touch  of  regret  whipped  her  sharp  tongue 
to  action.  Always  the  leader,  she  led  now,  directing 
and  advising.  They  must  not  appear  countrified  or 
ill  at  ease  here  ;  they  must  be,  above  all  things, 
up  to  date,  and  remember  that  the  stiff  courtesy 
of  Borrisdeane  was  not  of  this  newer  world.  So, 
chattering,  they  came  in,  to  find  Patsy,  devoured 
with  anxiety,  waiting  at  the  gate.  He  received  the 
account  of  The  Star's  behaviour  with  a  shake  of 
his  head. 

"  Up  she'd  whip  ye  before  ye'd  know  where  ye 
were,"  he  said.  "  There's  the  divil's  badness  neshtin' 
in  her  heart,  Miss  Moira ;  and  she'll  hurt  ye  yet  if  she 
can.  A  wisp  of  hay  was  all  they  dared  to  give  her 
before  we  had  to  buy  her.  Get  back,  ye  schamer,"  he 
added,  as  Gog,  perceiving  the  hens'  food,  edged 
towards  it  gently. 

A  voice  raised  high  drifted  from  the  kitchen 
window.  Moira  looked  in  ;  Biddy  dictated  a  letter 
home  and  James  Dunne  wrote  it  for  her.  The 
old  man  sprawled  across  the  sheet  of  paper,  writing 
laboriously.  Biddy  talked  as  she  got  luncheon 
ready. 

"  An'  tell  her  to  light  the  fires — the  ould  dusht — or 
'twill  be  worse  for  her  " — the  letter  was  to  Nancy,  now 
caretaker  of  Lake  Cottage.  "  Sure,  here  we  are  cool 
and  miserable,  say,  in  a  bit  of  a  house  that's  neither 
convanient  or  raisonable,  with  not  a  pot  or  pan  ready 
to  cook  in*  Signs  by,  tell  her  to  scour  thim  we  left. 


88  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

A  poor  little  town  with  a  few  shops  with  great 
winders  outside  and  great  prices  within.  An'  the  roof 
leakin'  in  the  house  ;  mind  now  say  agin  to  keep  fires, 
for  if  God  sint  the  young  ladies  a  few  colds  we  might 
be  home  soon.  An'  not  a  soul  did  we  see  yet,  nor  not 
one  have  I  seen  like  Misther  Tremayne,  God  bless 
him,  thrampin  in  an'  out  as  frindly  as  a  beggarman. 
Tell  the  ould  thief  to  milk  the  cow  out,  an'  to  tell  me 
if  Pat  Maguire  is  dead  yet,  an  who  got  his  bit  of 
money,  an"  if  Mary  Cassidy  settled  up  with  Mike 
O'Sullivan.  There  was  but  two  geese  between  com- 
pletin'  the  match  an  I  lavin',  and  he's  a  fine  sthrong 
bhoy  to  lose  for  that  same.  Let  alone  that  Mary  is 
lookin'  a  long  time  now." 

Moira  suddenly  remembered  that  she  listened  to 
a  private  matter,  and  walked  away.  Poor  Biddy, 
how  she  longed  to  be  at  home,  among  all  her  lifelong 
friends.  The  house  and  cow ;  the  little  happenings 
of  Borrisdeane  made  the  old  woman's  world.  "  If  God 
sends  us  a  few  colds,"  grinned  Moira,  as  she  went  in  to 
change. 

Kathleen,  her  eyes  afire,  was  drinking  in  a  de- 
scription of  Mat  Malone's  cob.  She  was  the 
light-weight  of  the  three ;  a  little  blue-eyed  girl, 
with  an  obstinate  disposition  cushioned  over  by  a 
yielding  manner. 

"  He  has  got  several  young  horses,  and  one  might 
suit  you,"  said  Moira.  "  You  have  got  nothing 
yet." 

"  I  shall  borrow  Gog  and  go  over  there  to-morrow, 
just  to  look,"  said  Kathleen  quietly  ;  but  her  eyes 
were  alight. 

When  luncheon  was  over,  and  the  elaborate  toilettes 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        89 

to  receive  callers  completed,  they  went  to  the  yard  and 
the  company  of  James  Dunne,  who  was  now  working  to 
arrange  a  third  stable.  From  him,  as  they  stood  in  a 
chaos  of  fragrant  shavings,  odds  and  ends  of  wood, 
hammers,  chisels,  saws,  and  nails,  they  learnt  many 
things :  how  Mrs.  Vereker,  whom  they  had  just  met, 
was  leader  and  ruler  of  Ballydare  society.  "  Not  that 
she  was  so  grand  herself" — James  drove  a  nail  con- 
temptuously— "  but  she  was  handsome  entirely  years 
ago,  and  the  ould  man  had  a  sight  of  money.  So 
faix,  she  thinks  more  of  herself  than  even  the  Countess 
below  at  the  Castle." 

Her  husband  had  been  dead  for  many  years  now, 
and  Dennis  Vereker,  the  loose-limbed,  red-faced  youth 
they  had  seen,  was  prospective  owner  of  much  money 
and  a  fine  old  place. 

"  Ye'd  be  afraid  to  throw  a  pebble  in  the  garding, 
for  fear  ye'd  break  a  glass  house,"  proceeded  James, 
"  and  the  front  way  up  is  all  statees  and  queer  things 
in  white  stone,  and  savin'  yer  presence,  miss,  most  of 
thim  without  a  rag  to  their  backs,  and  just  one  or  two 
with  a  soort  of  a  towel  to  kape  thim  warm.  God 
kape  the  poor  haythens  long  ago  if  they  sthud  out  in 
the  rain  like  that.  'Twould  give  you  the  creeps  now 
to  see  thim  all  in  the  moonshine  of  a  frosty  night, 
like  musheroons  in  July.  An'  once  I  was  inside  to  do 
a  job,  and  there  was  more  of  thim,  one  poor  craythur 
with  niver  an  arrum  on  her  that  the  ould  butler  said 
was  a  Vanus.  May  be  they  whipped  the  arrums  from 
her  for  her  bouldness.  'Twas  a  pity  for  ye  now  if  ye 
angered  Mrs.  Vereker,  for  the  spharks'd  fly  from  her 
eyes  whin  she's  crossed,  and  she'd  leave  neither  sthick 
nor  sthone  unturned  to  do  ye  a  mischief." 


9Q  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Further,  as  Dunne's  saw  whined,  or  his  plane 
sang,  they  heard  that  Mat  Malone  was  a  decent 
man,  who  dealt  in  young  horses  and  rode  hard 
to  hounds,  and  that  in  consequence  of  a  foolish 
quarrel  with  Mrs.  Vereker  in  the  hunting  field,  she 
had  found  some  pretext  for  turning  him  off  her 
land,  and  causing  him  much  trouble  and  incon- 
venience. 

"  An'  being  an  aisy  man  he  would  not  let  the 
League  take  it  up,"  said  James,  "though  he's  thrun 
in  his  big  fine  house  now,  with  near  a  mile  to 
go  round  to  a  road ;  there  was  a  thrack  straight 
out  by  the  fox  covert."  He  told  them  then  how 
years  before,  when  he  himself  had  been  a  young 
carpenter  earning  good  wages,  how  Mrs.  Vereker, 
then  Miss  Violet  Ellis,  had  been  engaged  to  some 
young  man,  younger  than  she  was,  who  was  over 
for  the  hunting.  James  could  not  recall  the  name 
'twas  like  Grattan.  "  She'd  take  the  sight  from 
ye  thin,  Miss  Eva,  with  the  flash  of  her  eyes  and 
the  black  of  her  'air,  and  cheeks  as  red  as  huntin' 
coats.  The  weddin'  was  fixed,  an'  the  day  named, 
an'  the  thrying  on  dhresses  every  day  within  at 
Clancy's,  whin  back  from  Australia  came  ould 
Vereker,  with  a  white  beard  on  him,  but  money 
enough  to  buy  the  town.  An'  he  went  mad  for 
her,  plain  for  all  to  see.  An'  faix  she  thrun  the 
other  away  and  was  Mrs.  Vereker  in  a  month. 
Sure,  the  young  man  took  it  hard  an'  sphoke  quare 
words  to  her  out  huntin'  before  thim  all.  Harding, 
the  English  whip,  tould  me,  but  little  she  cared,  just 
turned  round  at  him — 'twas  up  by  Tulla  covert — 
an'  laffed  at  him.  '  Don't  be  a  fool,'  says  she. 


Some  Sheep  and  Other  Things        91 

'  Isn't  money  besht  ov  all,  an*  I'm  not  going  to 
die,'  says  she.  '  I'll  be  there  yit.  I'm  not  the  ould 
one,'  says  she,  meanin'  like.  But  he  cursed  her,  so  he 
did,  and  laid  a  name  on  her  I  wouldn't  be  soilin'  ye're 
ears  with,  an'  Hardin'  says  though  she  was  white 
enough,  she  laffed  still.' 

" '  For  he'll  come  back,'  she  says  to  herself  whin 
'twas  over.  Hardin'  heard,  bein'  sthuck  agin  the 
hedge  to  see  the  fox  go,  an'  whin  he  cried  gone 
away,  faix  no  one  could  catch  Miss  Ellis  that  day, 
but  Misther — Misther — Grattan  went  harder  still,  an' 
near  kilt  himself  before  they  finished.  She  has 
but  the  one  child.  Poor  Masther  Dennis,  that  can 
hardly  call  his  soul  his  own  in  his  inside,  for  she 
niver  lets  him  away  from  her.  Oh,  she's  the  hard 
woman,"  said  James,  looking  for  his  hammer.  "  She's 
a  hard,  quare  woman,  and  mortial  proud  of  her 
looks  still." 

There  were  no  callers ;  the  evening  hushed  to  a 
frosty  stillness,  with  a  nip  of  frost  in  the  faint  wind  ; 
it  grew  too  dark  for  James  to  work,  and  they  went  in. 
There  was  no  peace  of  lapping  water  and  boom  of 
waves  at  The  Beeches,  but  the  constant  rumble  of  the 
carts  and  hoarse  cries  of  the  drivers  as  they  passed 
homeward  to  the  distant  colliery.  The  white  mist 
rose  to  the  door,  for  the  house  lay  low,  coming  up  in 
clinging,  dreary  chilliness.  They  had  no  fragrant 
peat  to  burn  here,  but  slow-burning  coal,  bought  for 
economy,  which  glowed  dully  and  without  much 
heat. 

They  were  lonely,  sitting  down  to  their  tea  ;  eating 
the  cakes  prepared  for  callers,  drinking  out  of  the 
new  china  and  talking  with  an  enthusiasm  which 


92  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

grew  strained  of  all  they  meant  to  do  when  the 
hunting  commenced. 

Biddy,  coming  in,  swung  the  serge  curtains  to  with 
an  energetic  swish. 

"  I'm  thinkin',"  she  said,  picking  up  the  new  tray, 
which  she  objected  to  strongly,  "  that  ye  saw  more 
company  at  Borrisdeane." 


CHAPTER  VI 

LIFE   PROVES   DISAPPOINTING 

""\T[  7ILL    ye    sthep    in,    please?"    said    Biddy, 

V  V  opening  the  door.  No  persuasion  could 
induce  her  to  adopt  what  she  termed  "  them  flibbi- 
tigibbits "  on  her  head,  and  her  old-fashioned  cap 
framed  her  wrinkled  face,  as  it  had  for  years.  She 
had  crossed  her  shawl  over,  and  pinned  on  a  white 
apron  bought  by  Eva. 

Lancelot  Milton,  captain  in  his  Majesty's  Army, 
had  a  pretty  wit.  "  The  very  original  Mrs.  Noah," 
he  remarked  audibly  to  his  subaltern,  who  was 
disputing  possession  of  his  hat  and  stick  with 
Biddy. 

"  Houldin'  on  to  thim  same  as  if  he'd  come  for  the 
rint,"  said  the  old  woman  indignantly,  as  she  made 
her  way  back  to  the  kitchen,  after  having  pushed  the 
drawing-room  door  open  with  the  curt  announcement 
of  "  Two  gintlemin." 

The  two  Miss  Considines — Kathleen  was  missing — 
had,  urged  by  Moira,  arrayed  themselves  in  all  their 
glory.  They  were  bright-coloured  representations  of 
the  newest  fashion-plates — trailing  skirts,  silken  be- 
frilled  blouses,  adorned  with  strange  daubs  of  button 
and  ribbon — as  the  Borrisdeane  artiste  had  translated 

93 


94  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

foreign  ideas  according  to  her  powers.  Eva's  gentle 
beauty  was  almost  smothered  in  crude  pink,  Moira's 
triumphed  over  a  concoction  of  flaring  yellow,  and 
nothing  but  the  persistent  waggling  of  her  new  hair- 
pads  marred  her  happiness.  Buckled  high-heeled 
shoes  peeped  from  a  maze  of  silken  frills ;  their  soft 
arms  were  bared  to  the  elbow.  They  had,  in  fact, 
made  themselves  as  good  copies  of  the  stage  young 
woman  as  they  could,  with  a  fixed  idea  that  any  one 
seeing  them  would  receive  an  impression  of  the  latest 
from  Paris. 

The  callers  must  come  ;  they  had  been  seen  in 
the  town,  also  out  riding,  although  in  both  cases 
there  had  been  slight  accidents  ;  the  rush  of  Ballydare 
to  welcome  them  must  now  commence.  The  two 
soldiers  had  put  off  their  visit  until  to-day,  and  Eva 
hoped  there  would  be  enough  chairs.  A  lavish  supply 
of  cakes  stood  in  the  pantry.  Biddy  was  making  hot 
bread,  and  had  promised  to  "set"  milk  for  cream. 
Everything  was  ready,  and  the  beginning  was  the 
entrance  of  Captain  Milton,  now  in  dark  blue  serge 
and  with  violets  in  his  buttonhole. 

He  looked  about  him  as  he  sat  down,  and  assured 
them  they  had  already  worked  wonders.  "  Awful 
little  hole  ;  were  simply  charmed  when  you  took 
it.  Very  sporting  of  you  three  comin'  along  like 
this  and  chaperonin'  each  other ;  must  let  me  help 
you,  if  you  want  advice."  He  caught  Moira's 
admiring  eye,  and  the  fatuous  line  of  his  cheeks 
deepened  to  a  crease.  With  a  winning  ease  he  took 
them  beneath  his  care,  and  from  the  subsequent 
conversation  it  was  evident  that,  so  far  as  sport 
went,  he  had  skimmed  the  cream  of  the  world's 


Life  proves  Disappointing  95 

knowledge.  Their  stable  management,  carefully 
imparted  by  the  Hermit,  was  of  course  all  wrong. 
A  stroll  to  the  stables  left  Patsy  with  a  worried 
expression  and  a  calm  determination  to  accept  all 
advice  and  alter  nothing.  Reproofs  for  untidiness 
and  extravagance  had  not  sweetened  his  temper. 
The  order  to  take  out  all  straw  each  morning  to  dry 
was  received  with  unqualified  contempt. 

"Fine  dryin'  'twould  get  undther  the  rain,"  remarked 
Patsy  ;  "  and  fine  feet  the  mare'd  have  pawin'  the 
cobble-stones  all  day."  So  far  as  the  edgings  of 
plaited  straw,  which  Captain  Milton  decided  to  be 
a  necessity,  Patsy's  aside  "  that  he  was  no  bashket- 
maker "  was  unfortunately  audible.  Viciousness, 
Milton  then  informed  them — he  was  clearly  annoyed 
by  Patsy's  manner — was  merely  the  result  of  bad 
stable  management  A  horse  which  kicked  in  the 
stable  meant  a  rough  and  stupid*  groom.  He  him- 
self would  go  up  to  any  horse :  here  he  opened 
the  door  of  The  Star's  new  box,  approaching  with 
a  "  Whoa,  my  pretty,"  as  fatuous  as  his  cheeks.  His 
exit,  as  he  dodged  to  escape  a  broken  shin,  was  a 
flurried  one. 

Patsy  was  left  muttering,  and  the  clear  autumn 
day  grew  chill.  There  was  no  lake  to  wander  by 
here,  no  restless  hum  of  sea  calling  for  a  walk  by 
its  shores,  so  they  went  into  the  tiny  square  sitting- 
room,  which,  with  door  and  window  shut,  became 
exceedingly  like  an  oven,  and  which  with  either  open 
was  a  cavern  of  the  winds.  Biddy  was  not  a  fashionable 
handmaiden,  to  be  hurried  with  tea  ;  as  the  girls  knew 
from  long  experience,  she  would  be  ready  at  five,  but 
not  a  moment  before  ;  to  hustle  her  into  bringing  it 


96  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

early  would  mean  no  hot  cakes,  and  probably  no 
cream.  The  two  sat  listening,  Moira  filled  with  that 
worship  of  the  new  which  is  youth's  joy  and  trial. 
Captain  Milton,  as  a  soldier,  was  a  being  she  had 
never  met  before,  and  the  mist  of  her  lack  of  under- 
standing enveloped  him,  to  her,  in  a  rosy  halo.  She 
hung  upon  his  words,  listened  to  his  great  tales  of 
fox-hunting,  when  at  most  times  it  seemed  that 
Captain  Milton  and  the  fox  were  alone  with  the 
hounds.  There  were  airy  allusions  to  London,  where 
he  lived,  to  theatres  and  music-halls,  and  tales  of  rout 
and  frolic.  The  man  or  woman  who  had  never  seen 
London  had  not  yet  commenced  to  live,  and  Moira's 
cheeks  glowed  with  the  false  shame  which  is  so  hard 
to  bear  ;  she  who  had  never  walked  in  that  enchanted 
city,  never  strolled  in  the  Park  on  golden  summer 
afternoons,  never  seen  Edmund  Payne,  Huntley 
Wright,  or  Barrington — Milton's  taste  apparently 
ran  to  musical  comedy — never  supped  at  the  Carlton 
or  the  Savoy.  She  was  a  mere  little  barbarian,  who 
ought  to  feel  the  greatest  pleasure  at  the  condescension 
of  this  man  of  the  world.  That  was  the  idea  which 
Milton  wished  to  present  and  impress,  and  which 
Moira  assimilated  as  a  sponge  takes  up  water.  Yet 
to  hold  her  own  a  little,  and  to  endeavour  not  to 
show  her  awe,  she  assumed  a  manner  so  far  removed 
from  shyness  as  to  be  almost  aggressive,  bandied  wit 
with  a  hoyden's  pertness,  and  laughed  at  compliments 
which  merited  slapping.  Their  new  friend  then  learnt 
with  a  gasp  of  horror  that  they  could  not  play  bridge. 
He  would  teach  them  now,  immediately.  Eva  pro- 
duced her  patience  cards,  a  table  was  cleared,  and 
they  commenced. 


Life  proves  Disappointing  97 

"Jolly  good  fun,"  the  two  men  voted  it,  for  the 
game  as  it  was  played  necessitated  corrections  of 
many  varieties.  Their  voices  rose  to  a  merry 
pitch,  the  window,  despite  the  draught,  was  flung 
open  to  let  out  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  the  game 
flourished. 

Moira,  denounced  as  a  juggins,  resented  it  freely. 
They  laughed,  and  romped,  and  enjoyed  it  all, 
believing  it  to  be  the  ways  of  the  heart  of  the 
world. 

"Trumped  your  partner's  king,  you  little  duffer," 
Milton  roared  with  laughter.  Moira,  declaring  that 
she  had  borne  enough,  seized  the  pack  and  flung 
it  at  his  head.  Now,  quite  unheeded,  a  motor 
had  come  to  the  narrow  gate  ;  and  at  this  moment 
the  Hon.  Mrs.  Harman  Vereker,  exceedingly  morose 
and  unwilling,  was  making  her  way  up  the  path  by 
the  window.  The  cards,  flung  with  a  skilful  zest, 
skimmed  out  into  the  evening,  falling  in  a  cloud 
about  the  astonished  lady's  head,  while  the  shouts  of 
merriment  and  crash  of  the  falling  table  as  Milton 
sprang  up  came  as  a  more  solid  blow.  She  stood 
transfixed,  a  tall,  well-built  figure,  glaring  at  the 
scene. 

"My  ...  Holy  Saint  Christopher  !  Mrs.  Vereker  !" 
said  Mr.  Stanley  weakly,  sheltering  himself  behind 
the  curtain. 

"  Lord  ! "  said  Milton,  picking  up  the  table — "  Mrs. 
Vereker  of  all  people." 

"  I — we  are  so  sorry.  Won't  you  come  in  ?  "  Eva, 
quite  unaware  that  some  flowers  flung  at  Moira  by 
Captain  Milton  had  caught  in  her  hair  and  were 
nodding  there  airily,  came  forward  with  hot  cheeks. 

7 


98  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  I've — that  is,  my  son — asked  me  to  call."  Mrs. 
Vereker  looked  back  at  the  car. 

"  We  thought  you  might  not  have  understood 
yesterday  about  those  sheep" — Dennis  Vereker's  red 
face  peered  over  his  mother's  shoulder,  and  his  eyes 
were  uneasy — "  so  we  came  to  call  on  you." 

"  Purely  to  explain,"  said  his  mother,  with  glacial 
distinctness.  "  Thank  you,  Miss — er — Considine,  I 
do  not  think  I  shall  come  in." 

"Oh,  please,"  said  Eva  appealingly,  and,  with 
Dennis  using  pressure  at  the  back,  Mrs.  Vereker 
stepped  in.  She  was  a  tall,  handsome  woman,  with 
a  hard  face  and  cold  eyes.  The  power  to  rule 
gleamed  from  their  grey  depths  ;  there  was  arrogance 
in  her  glance  and  haughty,  well-cut  mouth,  and  her 
manner  as  she  looked  for  a  chair  indicated  the 
lady  of  the  manor  who  stoops  that  she  may  win  a 
vote.  Guest  and  hostess  faced  each  other,  the  youth- 
ful prettiness  of  one  crowned  by  two  nodding  roses, 
the  stern  handsomeness  of  the  other  by  the  knave  of 
hearts  which  had  slipped  between  veil  and  toque,  and 
nodded  his  red  face  almost  rakishly  at  the  company. 
Mr.  Stanley,  peering  round  the  curtain,  choked 
audibly,  and  again  invoked  Saint  Christopher — the 
only  remark,  in  fact,  which  he  made  for  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon.  Captain  Milton  stiffened  his  neck  and 
talked  bravely,  and  Mrs.  Vereker  sat  not  unlike  a 
female  thundercloud,  booming  out  insufficient  replies 
to  gentle  overtures. 

"  We  have  had  so  much  trouble  with  the  cottage," 
said  Eva. 

"  Indeed  ! " 

"  Miss  Moira,"  observed  Biddy  from  the  door,  "  will 


Life  proves  Disappointing  99 

ye  lind  me  a  hand  in  with  the  tapot  ?  'Twon't  fit  on 
the  thray." 

Moira  fled  hastily,  and  Mrs.  Vereker  trusted  they 
were  not  getting  tea  for  her,  for  she  would  not 
take  any. 

"  We  have  never  been  away  before,  and  it  was  so 
hard  to  arrange  everything  alone,"  went  on  Eva,  and 
the  tail  of  her  eye  flashed  contempt  upon  Milton, 
who,  instead  of  helping  her,  had  drawn  Dennis  aside 
and  was  talking  hunting  to  him. 

Mrs.  Vereker's  hard  eyes  travelled  slowly  round  the 
little  room,  dwelling  on  the  new  chintzes,  the  photo- 
graphs, the  various  attempts  to  beautify  the  unlovely 
squareness,  and  dwelling  on  them  with  a  chill  lack  of 
appreciation.  There  were  no  "  statees,"  towelled  or 
otherwise,  or  pictures  to  impress  her. 

She  smothered  a  manufactured  yawn  impres- 
sively. 

"  You  have  done  it  alone  ;  but  I  presume  that  your 
mother  will  soon  come  to  look  after  you  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Vereker  heavily. 

"  Well — no.  You  see,  she's  dead,"  explained  Eva. 
"  We  lived  with  our  aunt,"  she  added  hastily. 

"  Indeed  ! "  Mrs.  Vereker,  having  herself  made 
an  awkward  speech,  was  exceedingly  angry  with 
Eva. 

"  Indeed — your  aunt,"  she  said  stiffly.  "I  suppose, 
then,  she  is  coming  to  live  with  you  ?  " 

"  She  ! — she  can't,"  murmured  Eva,  wondering  how 
people  turned  conversations. 

"  I  consider  it  most  negligent  and  wrong  of  her  to 
leave  you  alone,"  observed  the  visitor. 

"  She  ! — she's  dead  too  !  "  said  Eva  weakly.     And 


ioo          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

a  sudden   splutter  of  laughter   from    near  the  serge 
curtains  was  too  plainly  audible. 

The  stiffening  of  Mrs.  Vereker's  neck  made  the 
knave  of  hearts  bow  jauntily.  She  turned  to 
Captain  Milton,  who  now  came  up,  entering  into  a 
pleasant  conversation  with  him  about  various  social 
events  and  happenings,  completely  ignoring  her  girl 
hostess — so  that  Eva  had  the  sensation  of  being 
a  new  Alexander  Mactavish,  mentally  whipped  and 
put  upon  the  cold  doorstep  to  cool  in  her  own 
house. 

She  was  quite  alive  to  her  visitor's  importance, 
and  over-anxious  to  please  her.  It  would  mean 
so  much  to  them  to  be  taken  up  by  the  right 
people  in  this  strange  place.  She  commenced  to 
talk  to  Dennis,  and  tell  him  of  their  plans  and 
hopes,  receiving  from  him  a  grave  assurance  that 
Gog  was  certainly  up  to  any  weight,  and  a  gentle, 
well-mannered  horse. 

"  Of  course,  he  might  be  a  little — slow,"  said  Dennis 
diffidently,  wondering  what  plough  the  great  beast 
had  come  from. 

Biddy,  tray  in  hand,  banged  upon  the  door, 
arranging  it  with  great  dissatisfaction  on  its  bed  of 
three  carved  legs.  Moira,  carrying  the  pot  and  a 
dish  of  hot  cakes,  followed. 

"  Temptin'  providence  an'  the  new  chancy ! " 
grumbled  Biddy,  bending  her  snowily  capped  old 
head  as  the  brass  tray  rocked  and  the  cups  clattered. 
"  Miss  Eva,  will  ye  get  the  gintleman  to  put  his 
hand  to  the  legs,  while  I  lays  it  down  ?  Now,  isn't 
a  nice  clane  cloth  led  down  on  a  firum  table  far 
better  than  thim  childther's  nonsense  ?  Twould 


Life  proves  Disappointing  101 

take  but  a  kick  of  yer  feet  to  sind  all  that  over. 
The  ould  ways  is  the  besht,  don't  ye  think  so  now, 
ma'am  ?  " 

With  the  freedom  brought  by  many  friendships  at 
Borrisdeane,  she  appealed  to  Mrs.  Vereker  as  she 
would  have  to  Mrs.  Butler  or  Madam  O'Neill. 

Mrs.  Vereker  gasped  and  stared,  ignoring  the 
question. 

"  Wouldn't  ye  say  so,  ma'am  ? "  repeated  Biddy, 
lighting  the  spirit  lamp,  then,  again  receiving  no 
answer,  looked  at  Mrs.  Vereker  with  a  pitying 
scrutiny.  "  Sphake  up  to  her,  Miss  Moira,  dear,  the 
poor  lady's  as  deaf  as  Mikey  Guinane's  ould  mother," 
observed  Biddy  as  she  left. 

Eva,  growing  rapidly  hysterical  from  strain,  dis- 
pensed tea,  Mrs.  Vereker  taking  some  mechanically, 
her  handsome  grey  eyes  glaring  at  the  door  which 
had  shut  out  Biddy.  To  have  the  chillness  of  dignity 
taken  for  deafness  is  not  pleasing. 

Dennis,  helping  assiduously,  could  not  take  his  eyes 
from  Eva's  pretty  face.  He  had  escaped  from  Milton, 
and  was  endeavouring  to  counteract  his  mother's 
manner.  It  had  taken  him  two  hours'  hard  coaxing, 
and  a  heavily  painted  picture  of  her  unkindness 
to  two  timid  girls,  to  get  her  to  come  to  call. 
They  had  been  in  Ballydare  in  the  morning,  she 
declared,  in  actresses'  hats  and  absurd  gowns.  They 
were  three  young  adventuresses  come  down  to  hunt 
many  things.  Dennis,  lying  cheerily,  was  certain 
they  had  an  aunt  or  a  mother.  He  represented 
the  enormous  benefit  which  his  mother's  call  could 
confer,  and  with  so  little  trouble  to  herself.  With  a 
tongue  oiled  by  the  memory  of  the  sheep  hunt,  and 


iO2  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Eva  Considine's  sweetness  as  she  lashed  her  mighty 
steed  across  corners  and  up  lanes  to  cut  the  flock  off 
and  help  him,  Dennis  had  triumphed.  Now,  with  the 
horror  of  the  knave  of  hearts,  who  grew  positively 
skittish  in  his  mother's  hat,  and  the  memory  of  the 
noise  which  had  greeted  them,  he  dreaded  his  drive 
home. 

Listening  to  Eva's  gentle  voice,  it  was  impossible 
to  doubt  her  breeding,  even  with  a  rose  nodding  over 
her  ear,  and  the  room  littered  with  fallen  odds  and 
ends.  Moira  chattered  more  merrily,  trying  to  cover 
her  discomfiture ;  she  flitted,  waiting  on  every  one, 
especially  on  Milton,  who  made  a  heavy  tea  and 
allowed  Dennis  and  Mr.  Stanley,  in  the  moments 
when  he  appeared  from  behind  the  curtain,  to  hand 
things  about. 

Mrs.  Vereker,  warmed  by  excellent  tea,  and  com- 
forted by  Biddy's  hot  cakes,  thawed  slightly.  She 
impressed  upon  Eva  the  desirability  of  a  chaperon  : 
failing  those  who  were  dead,  they  could  easily  find 
some  one  alive,  some  needy  gentlewoman  requiring  a 
home.  Eva,  anxious  to  propitiate,  promised  to  think 
of  it,  and  glared  reproachfully  at  her  sister  when  that 
young  lady  suggested  the  coal  cellar  as  the  only 
spare  bedroom. 

"  Also " — Mrs.  Vereker  took  a  second  cup  of  tea 
and  more  cake,  remarking  that  really  those  curious 
old  Irish  servants  did  understand  how  to  make  hot 
bread — "  also,  Miss  Considine,  I  observed  you  yester- 
day speaking  to  Matthew  Malone.  No  doubt  he  will 
try  to  sell  you  a  horse.  He  is  " — Mrs.  Vereker's  voice 
deepened — "  a  person  of  the  lowest  stamp,  a  cheat,  a 
rogue.  I  was  obliged  to  take  my  land  from  him, 


Life  proves  Disappointing  103 

and  I  believe  he  would  poison  the  covert  if  he 
did  not  live  by  horse  dealing.  Do  not  look  at  his 
horses." 

Hoofs  clattered  outside.  "  Moira !  Eva ! "  cried 
Kathleen's  voice,  shrill  with  excitement.  "  I've  bought 
it — bought  the  cob.  I  jumped  it  everywhere,  and  had 
tea  with  Malone,  and  there  never  was  such  a  darling, 
and  I've  called  it  Jim  Crow,  and  he's  ridden  back  with 
me,  and  you  must  write  the  cheque  and  give  him  some 
whisky  now,  and  Patsy  will  put  him  in  the  stable 
and  feed  him." 

Kathleen,  her  face  all  aglow,  came  into  the  circle  of 
light.  By  her  side,  smiling  happily,  stood  Mr.  James 
Malone. 

"  The  divil  a  fear  he'll  ivir  fall  with  her,"  he  said. 
"  Anyhow  " — then  his  eye  lighted  on  his  arch  enemy, 
Mrs.  Vereker,  who  had  put  down  her  cup,  and,  with 
disgust  written  on  her  face,  had  begun  to  fasten  her 
sables. 

Kathleen  cried  to  Biddy  for  whisky  speedily. 
"  For  Malone  says  a  dry  bargain  is  no  bargain,  and 
that's  why  The  Star  had  sidebones  and  fell  into  the 
ditches.  Gog's  man  did  have  porter,  and — here  you 
are,  Malone." 

Perched  upon  the  sill,  brushing  Mrs.  Vereker's 
skirts  as  that  lady  endeavoured  to  leave,  Kathleen 
filled  a  brimming  glass,  and  without  a  cough  Malone 
swallowed  it.  "  Here's  good  luck  and  success,"  he 
said,  "  to  all  good  people,  and  the  divil's  luck  to  him 
that  deserves  it."  His  smile  was  angelic  in  its 
innocence,  but  his  eyes  were  not  far  from  Mrs. 
Vereker  as  she  made  her  haughty  adieux,  with  a 
distinct  show  of  temper  in  her  flushed  cheeks. 


104          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  had  the  opportunity  of 
apologising  for  any  hastiness  concerning  my  sheep," 
she  said  coldly. 

Eva,  visibly  unhappy,  said  she  was  so  glad  they 
were  in.  Mrs.  Vereker,  in  tones  of  doom,  said  that 
they  had  known  that  at  the  gate.  Her  arrangement 
of  her  veil  failed  to  disturb  the  knave  of  hearts,  who 
kept  his  place  with  determination.  Eva's  flowers  had 
slipped  off,  and  Moira,  as  she  said  good-bye,  trembled 
for  their  one  pack  of  cards. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  ;  it  was  my  fault  for  throwing  them. 
But  may  I  ?  " — she  lifted  the  little  knave  from  his 
throne — "  we  haven't  got  another  pack,  you  see,"  she 
apologised. 

"  Have  I,"  demanded  Mrs.  Vereker,  "been  carrying 
that  thing  in  my  hat  all  the  afternoon  ?  " 

Her  son,  whom  she  questioned,  said  it  was  so. 

The  splutters  of  laughter  and  smiling  glances  were 
explained.  With  a  depth  of  bitter  resentment  which 
rent  her,  Mrs.  Vereker. made  her  exit,  pushing  past 
Mat  Malone,  who  still  stood  at  the  widow;  marching 
to  her  car  in  deadly  silence.  The  Considines  had 
made  an  enemy  who  had  much  in  her  power. 

As  the  powerful  car  throbbed  into  life,  she  spoke 
fervently,  furiously,  pouring  out  the  vials  of  her  wrath 
upon  the  three  Miss  Considines,  who,  divided  between 
chagrin  and  merriment,  had  dispatched  their  other 
callers,  and  with  none  left  but  Mat  Malone,  who 
was  helping  Patsy,  sat  laughing  hysterically  in  their 
little  room. 

"  We  are  fated,  fated,"  groaned  Eva.  "  Our  first 
visitor,  all  mixed  up  with  bridge,  romping,  and 
cigarettes,  and  a  shower  of  cards." 


Life  proves  Disappointing  105 

"  And  the  knave  of  hearts,"  muttered  Moira 
helplessly. 

"  And  Mat  Malone,  and  the  whisky.  Eva,  do 
you  think  she  will  ever  forgive  us?  And  Kathleen" — 
Moira  suddenly  awoke  to  deeper  things — "  this  cob 
is  only  a  screw,  a  thing  we  shall  never  make  any 
money  of.  It's  not  fair  of  Kathleen." 

Eva  made  excuses  on  the  ground  of  youth,  as 
Mat  Malone  returned  for  his  cheque,  and  to  say  the 
cob  was  "  nate  and  comfortable  ;  but  did  they  know  the 
grey  mare  was  the  least  sign  of  windsucker,  an'  that 
was  what  kep'  her  so  poor  ?  " 

Moira  groaned. 

"  An"  that  bhoy  of  yer's  has  the  horses  fair  smothered 
in  straw,"  added  Malone,  as  he  took  his  cheque.  It 
was  for  thirty  pounds,  and  represented  nearly  twice 
the  value  of  the  cob.  "  Faix,  'tis  aisy  known  he 
doesn't  pay  for  the  same." 

This  was  direct  fruit  of  new  teaching. 

Moira,  crouched  over  the  fire,  was  thinking  of  James 
Dunne's  story.  What  a  beautiful  creature  this  woman, 
so  handsome  still,  must  have  been  as  a  young  girl, 
when  the  hair  shone  with  the  lights  which  dye  now 
hid,  when  those  cheeks  had  been  flushed  and  soft, 
and  the  perfectly  cut  mouth  red.  Who,  she  wondered, 
had  broken  his  heart  for  her,  and  where  had  she  seen 
some  one  like  Mrs.  Vereker  before  ?  She  could  not 
remember,  but  she  knew  that  the  face  struck  some 
note  in  her  memory.  Young  brains  run  riot.  In 
fancy  she  pictured  the  scene  out  hunting ;  the  furious, 
bitter  words  spoken  by  a  boy  whose  whole  being 
quivered  with  suffering  and  furious  anger.  To  be 
flung  aside  for  an  old  white-bearded  man  ;  to  see  the 


106          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

girl  he  had  loved  sell  herself  as  coolly  as  a  Circassian 
slave.  To  be  pointed  at,  mocked,  pitied,  the  hardest 
thing  youth  can  endure.  What  words,  she  wondered, 
had  he  flung  in  the  beautiful  face  which  turned  away 
and  mocked  him  with  a  careless  laugh,  caring  nothing 
now  that  she  could  be  rich?  Had  it  satisfied  her? 
Were  pictures,  diamonds ;  cunning  chiselled  marble 
full  recompense  for  the  loss  of  the  love  a  young  man 
can  offer  ?  Did  they  repay  for  perjured  faith  and 
broken  promises  ?  Moira  could  not  tear  the  picture 
from  her  mind  ;  it  haunted  her,  and  more  so  because 
the  impression  of  having  seen  Mrs.  Vereker  before 
jarred  on  an  unresponsive  memory.  Now,  Dennis 
Vereker — his  name  made  her  thoughts  pass  on — was 
very  rich.  He  had  seen  Eva,  called  next  day — 
surely  a  good  first  chapter  for  the  romance  she 
desired  to  write  on  life's  pages.  If  through  this 
scheme  of  hers  Eva  should  make  a  great  match,  be 
rich  and  happy,  what  would  they  say  to  her  then  ? 
She  would  have  proved  herself  right,  be  repaid  for  all 
the  arguments  used  to  induce  her  sisters  to  consent. 
The  Hermit — even  the  Hermit  could  not  look  at  her 
again  with  faintly  mocking  eyes,  as  he  had  done 
before  they  parted.  He  had  spoken  of  knowing 
Ballydare ;  she  must  ask  about  him,  see  if  people 
remembered  Oliver  Tremayne.  Moira's  romance 
went  swiftly.  She  saw  Eva  all  in  white,  aflash  with 
diamonds,  going  to  her  wedding  ;  she  decided  on  the 
bridesmaids'  dresses  and  presents  ;  travelling  farther, 
she  saw  herself  staying  at  Knock  Castle,  with  Mrs. 
Vereker  somewhere  out  of  the  way,  and  Eva,  clad 
in  wondrous  attire,  proud  mistress  of  the  lovely  rooms. 
She  was  going  in  to  a  dinner  party  of  twenty,  with 


Life  proves  Disappointing  107 

unheard-of  luxuries  before  them,  when  Biddy  put  her 
head  in,  and  observed  that  if  Miss  Moira  didn't  "  hurry 
to  dhress,  the  rabbit'd  be  rags  and  the  bacon  boiled 
away." 

It  was  a  faint  change  from  her  dreams,  but,  being 
hungry,  she  went  quickly. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FIRST  MEET 

THE  first  meet  of  the  season.  What  memories 
it  calls  up ;  what  hopes  rise  as  we  read 
the  fixture  on  the  card !  Summer  is  over,  grim 
winter  has  come  ;  the  greatest  sport  in  life  lies  for  five 
months  before  us.  Will  luck,  a  fickle  jade,  be  ours 
this  year,  or,  with  a  mocking  grin,  will  she  see  us  take 
the  wrong  side  as  they  break ;  find  the  gate  in  a 
hopeless  fence  locked ;  or  having  sent  us  flying  to  that 
easy  place  which  once  crossed  will  take  us  to  hounds, 
see  the  cold  trail  of  barbed  wire  winding  tightly  across 
it  ?  This  year  the  funkers  think  they  will  funk  no  more, 
but  sit  down  and  ride  that  first  big  place  which  up  to 
now  has  sent  them  round,  primed  with  excuses. 
They  will  do  at  last  what  all  their  lives  they've  meant 
to — take  their  own  line  and  sail  away  on  terms  with 
the  flying  pack  :  no  following  like  flocks  of  sheep, 
hard  on  each  other's  tracks,  in  one  broken-down  spot ; 
no  waiting  until  the  once  stiff  wall  is  a  grey  and 
rattling  ruin.  Good  men  and  true,  who  know  no  fear, 
smile  softly  as  hounds  come  trotting  in  and  gather  on 
the  lawn.  There  is  a  chatter  of  foxes  and  horses,  and 
scent  and  fences,  and  not  a  sad  face  among  the  crowd. 
How  the  underbred  horses  hump  their  backs  and  buck 

108 


The  First  Meet  109 

and  squeal  as  they  do  their  first  canter ;  the  well-bred 
ones  munch  at  their  bits  and  go  demurely,  keeping 
themselves  ready  for  the  gallop  they  long  for.  For 
horses  like  it  as  much  as  their  masters ;  it  is  as  keen 
joy  to  them  to  stretch  their  powerful  limbs,  to  jump 
truly  and  strain  their  generous  hearts  to  keep  near 
the  pack  they  love.  There  goes  an  old  bay,  stiff 
in  the  shoulder,  fired  for  curbs,  bandaged  all  round  ; 
but  how  he  cocks  his  ears  and  steps  out,  how  the 
rheumatism  vanishes  as  he  grows  warm  !  and  no  five- 
year-old  will  go  as  keenly  as  the  old  veteran  of  eight 
seasons  who  was  bought  for  twenty  pounds.  What 
a  feeling  that  bad  things  are  left  behind  and  all  good 
things  lie  in  front  as  the  first  whimper,  the  first  long 
yowl  for  fox,  which  is  no  puppies'  babble,  rises  from 
the  gorse.  Reins  are  tightened  and  hats  jammed 
down,  and  the  good  horse  beneath  us  shivers  with 
expectation.  Which  way  will  he  break?  Back  over 
the  rough  country,  or  to  the  east,  over  the  valley  with 
its  line  of  perfect  banks  ?  A  shout.  He  has  gone 
over  the  banks,  and  the  thunder  of  squelching  hoofs 
sounds  down  the  long  hillside.  Swing  now  right  or 
left  and  get  your  start  away  from  the  crowd.  With 
its  sorrows  and  its  triumphs,  its  poor  days  and 
perfect,  hunting  is  with  us  again,  and  the  joy  of 
being  alive  to  enjoy  it  is  ours. 

At  The  Beeches  the  three  girls  were  astir  early  ; 
there  was  rushing  from  room  to  room,  hasty  snatching 
of  mouthfuls  of  breakfast,  consultations  as  to  the 
adjustment  of  the  new  habits,  grievous  failures  con- 
cerning ties,  and  a  strong  disposition  to  puff  out  their 
hair  beneath  their  new  silk  hats.  Eva  liked  a  veil, 
Moira  did  not ;  then,  too  abundant  locks  wobbled 


no          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

perilously.  And  all  the  flurry  of  preparation  was 
punctuated  by  shrill  and  unceasing  remarks  from 
Patsy  as  he  bustled  to  and  fro  with  saddles  and 
bridles. 

"  Divil  a  pick  of  corn  is  The  Sthar  afther  atin'  for 
me.  Sonce  a  taste.  She  just  damped  it  with  her 
breath,  becos  there  was  a  brush  laid  on  to  clane 
her  before  she  began  to  ate." 

A  pause,  and  then  a  wailing  grumble  that  he 
had  the  new  girths  "  squez  "  to  the  last  hole,  and 
even  then  he  was  afraid  the  saddle  would  come 
round. 

He  appeared  and  disappeared  at  the  stable  door, 
scarlet-faced  from  anxiety ;  a  further  shriek  from 
Gog's  stable  proclaimed  that  "the  schamer  had  got 
his  muzzle  off  and  finished  his  bed  till  he  was  puffed 
out  like  a  crass  turkey  cock."  Jim  Crow  alone  came 
in  for  no  comments,  having  licked  his  manger  clean 
of  oats,  and  nothing  further,  save  his  modest 
allowance  of  hay. 

There  was  a  lull,  while  the  three  pranced  for  the 
last  time  before  their  respective  looking-glasses,  and 
Biddy  was  ordered  to  see  that  Eva's  sandwich-case 
was  on  the  saddle.  The  altercation  drifted  clearly 
through  the  open  windows  at  the  back. 

"  Patsy  !  "  and  Patsy  appeared.  "  Have  ye  Miss 
Eva's  sandwich-case  above  on  the  horse  ? "  cried 
Biddy.  "Have  ye,  Patsy?" 

"  I  have  not,"  said  Patsy,  disappearing ;  then,  stung 
to  retort  by  the  storm  of  contempt  which  swept  at 
him  across  the  yard,  he  appeared  again. 

"  But  I  have  it  on  the  saddle,"  he  observed  gloomily 
taking  over  the  silver  lining  to  be  filled. 


The  First  Meet  in 

He  had  scarcely  applied  himself  to  polishing  The 
Star's  hoofs  when  Biddy's  shrill  old  voice  roused 
him  once  more. 

"  Patsy  !  Patsy  !  Come  out  till  I  see  you.  Pat- 
see  ! " 

Patsy,  wishing  politely  that  "  the  divil  had  Biddy's 
tongue  for  his  brekhusht,"  darted  into  view,  brush 
in  hand,  and  rubbing  his  leg  with  some  feeling. 

"  Miss  Kathleen  wants  to  know  if  ye  have  her  little 
cane  that  she  left  out  yestherday  ?  an'  she'll  be  fit  to 
be  tied  if  ye  haven't,"  said  Biddy. 

Patsy,  with  a  worried  look,  said  "the  brains  in 
his  head  were  med  soup  of  from  thinkin',  an 
indade  if  he'd  known  all  the  sandwichers  an' 
sthicks  an'  nonsenses  that  wint  with  hunting,  he'd 
have  sthopped  carin"  the  Murphy's  jennit,  aisy  an' 
respectable. 

"  When  I  heard  ye  bawling,  I  did  but  take  one 
eye  off  The  Sthar,"  he  said  bitterly,  "an"  she  druv 
me  knee  to  the  hayrack  with  the  kick  she  med 
on  me." 

Here  he  fetched  the  sandwiches,  ate  one  absently, 
and  limped  back  to  his  charges. 

When  at  last  the  three  emerged  in  the  glory  of 
shining  hats  and  boots  and  tight-waisted  coats,  Patsy 
murmured  "  glory  "  fervently. 

"  There'll  be  none  like  ye  in  the  field,"  he  said,  with 
a  groom's  true  pride  in  his  own  property.  "  Indade, 
Miss  Moira,  ye're  for  all  the  world  like  the  gran' 
picthures  of  the  circus  in  the  town."  The  compliment 
was  received  with  reserve  and  a  request  for  the 
horses. 

Patsy  had  not  spared  himself.     The  horses'  coats 


ii2          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

shone,  the  bits  were  silver  bright,  the  saddles  polished 
to  glassiness.  Moira,  as  she  mounted,  first  looked 
back  along  The  Star's  lean  length,  and  wondered  if  the 
world  held  so  beautiful  an  animal.  Gog  took  the 
opportunity  to  stretch  out  and  bury  his  head  in 
the  rain-water  barrel,  as  a  protest  against  his  abridged 
morning  drink,  and  was  removed  with  his  great  nose 
dripping. 

"  Sorra  the  far  he'll  go  for  ye,  Miss  Eva,  betune 
wather  an1  sthraw,"  said  Patsy  contritely,  as  they 
rode  away.  He  had  announced  his  intention  of 
following  upon  a  "  borryed  "  bicycle  to  see  the 
meet. 

They  clattered  down  the  road,  beaming  with  joy, 
wondering  what  it  would  be  like.  The  time  so  long 
anticipated  had  come  at  last.  The  magical  hour  when 
they  were  to  witch  Ballydare,  and  lay  the  foundation 
of  selling  their  horses. 

Moira  was  not  over  sure  of  bringing  The  Star 
home.  "  It's  unlucky  to  ride  them  once  they're 
sold,"  she  said  impressively.  "  And  I'm  sure  when 
the  Master  sees  her,  he'll  want  to  buy  her  at  once. 
We  must  remember  to  get  quickly  away  behind 
the  hounds.  It's  no  use  riding  to  sell  in  the  back- 
ground." 

Eva  thought  of  Gog's  morning  meal  and  sighed. 

Led  horses  and  traps  and  men  hacking  on  were 
already  pouring  along  the  road.  Curious  eyes  were 
turned  upon  them,  and  sometimes  turned  away  to 
smile.  And  at  every  horse  and  trap  The  Star  kicked 
viciously,  lashing  out  with  her  long  legs  as  one  who 
meant  to  do  business.  The  grave  sin  of  owning  a 
kicker  did  not  impress  itself  upon  Moira.  She  bore 


The  First  Meet  113 

gently  on  the  curb,  and  called  her  mare  a  playful 
pet. 

At  the  fifth  kick,  The  Star  having  narrowly  escaped 
braining  an  elderly  gentleman,  who  came  close  by, 
he  pulled  up  with  a  hurt  expression. 

"  You  should  wear  a  red  ribbon,  young  lady,  wear  a 
red  ribbon,"  he  grunted  noisily.  "  You  very  nearly 
caught  me." 

Moira,  blushing  at  the  liberty  of  the  remark,  and 
wondering  where  on  earth  the  red  ribbon  should  be 
adjusted,  replied  frigidly  that  it  was  only  her  mare's 
play.  "  She  has  never  been  out  hunting,"  she  ex- 
plained ;  "  never  saw  hounds." 

"  I'm  afraid  some  hounds  will  wish  they'd  never 
seen  her,"  he  smiled  now  and  grew  genial.  "  Nothing 
so  dangerous  as  a  kicker.  Keep  out  of  the  crowd  or 
you'll  get  abused."  He  jogged  on  stolidly. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  arrived  at  the  meet. 

The  hounds  were  coming  up  as  they  came,  a  cluster 
of  pied  bodies,  and  keen,  wistful  faces,  moving  with 
the  easy  hound  jog  which  covers  the  ground  so  fast. 
They  were  drawn  up  on  the  lawn  by  Killeen  House. 
A  faint  sun  brightened  the  morning,  touching  light 
grey  clouds  to  whiteness  against  a  pale  blue  sky.  A 
west  wind  sang  through  the  still  leafy  trees,  rustling 
their  mantle  of  russet  and  gold  and  crimson  to  the, 
cold  earth,  hurling  the  leaves  as  they  fell  to  a  rustling 
dance  of  death.  Pink  coats  shone  in  the  sunshine, 
dotting  the  stretch  of  grass  ;  men  and  women  were 
getting  from  traps  and  motors  ;  grooms  gave  the  last 
unneeded  polish  as  they  brought  their  horses  up.  It 
was  all  bustle  and  brightness  ;  clatter  of  tongues  and 
exchange  of  cheery  greetings,  and  the  Considines 


ii4          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

gazed  on  it  with  awe-struck  eyes.  So  this  was  a 
meet.  This  was  the  commencement  of  the  fox- 
hunting, which  they  had  read  and  dreamt  about  for 
so  long. 

The  Star  humped  her  long  back  and  plunged 
heavily.  Gog  cocked  his  ears,  and  having  said 
"  Hu-hu  !  "  heartily,  thought  better  of  further  move- 
ment, and  ate  grass.  Little  Jim  Crow,  his  lean, 
well-bred  head  carried  high,  only  watched  the 
hounds.  A  week's  grooming  had  made  his  coat 
shine,  a  liberal  supply  of  oats  had  filled  him  out. 
Highly  blemished  little  beast  as  he  was,  he  looked 
a  hunter. 

They  were  isolated  strangers  among  the  friendly 
groups,  but  that,  Moira  said,  would  not  last  long 
Even  then  the  constant  glances  showered  on  them 
meant  recognition,  and  the  triumph  would  soon 
begin. 

Mrs.  Vereker's  motor  drew  up  near  them,  and  they 
saw  their  only  visitor  getting  on  to  a  magnificent 
weight-carrying  bay,  almost  thoroughbred,  and  with  a 
mouth  of  silk.  They  were  recognised  with  the 
chilliest  of  nods,  and  an  audible  request  to  Dennis 
to  keep  near  his  mother,  as  she  feared  her  horse  was 
fresh. 

"  Eva,  the  Master !  "  The  lean  little  man  they  had 
seen  in  the  town,  now  seeming  one  with  a  dark  brown 
thoroughbred  mare.  He  swayed  to  each  movement 
with  that  perfect  sympathy  which  marks  a  true 
horseman.  On  the  ground  he  was  insignificant, 
shuffling  and  limping  from  bad  injuries,  his  hard 
bitten  face  like  tanned  leather.  Riding,  one  had  to 
turn  and  look  as  he  swung  past. 


The  First  Meet  115 

"  He'd  simply  look  perfect  on  The  Star."  Moira 
eyed  Gog  with  a  look  of  pity.  "  You  see  he  goes  in 
for  thoroughbreds.  But  there  are  sure  to  be  a  lot  of 
fat  men,  Eva,"  she  added  kindly.  "  I  think  I'll  just 
let  him  see  her." 

Moira  cantered  The  Star  along  up  towards  the 
hounds.  She  was  just  in  time  to  see  them  welcome 
Donough  Moroney  as  he  came  among  them — a 
chorus  of  frantic  joy  which  sent  the  nervous  Star 
halfway  round  the  field.  By  judicious  use  of  the 
"  crub "  Moira  got  her  back  again,  and  rode  over 
close  to  the  waiting  pack. 

"  Doesn't  kick  hounds,  I  hope  ?  "  Morency  raised 
his  head  and  grinned  faintly.  He  remembered  the 
mutton  chops. 

"  Oh,  no ! "  said  Moira ;  and  The  Star,  with  a 
squeal  of  wrath,  swung  round  and  let  drive  at  a 
straggler. 

"  Take  her  away  and  beat  her,"  said  Moroney  kindly, 
controlling  his  peppery  temper  as  he  looked  at  Moira's 
distressed  face.  "  But,  please,  take  her  away,  and — 
put  on  a  ribbon." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  disconnected  brute  in 
your  life  ?  "  he  remarked  to  Dennis  Vereker,  who  rode 
up.  "  Some  one  stuck  that  child  fairly.  They're 
those  new  girls,  aren't  they,  come  down  for  the 
winter  ?  " 

Mrs.  Vereker  struck  in  with  some  chilling  comments. 
"  Most  impossible  young  persons.  No  one  belonging 
to  them  apparently  but  a  dead  aunt,  with  no  real 
reason  to  give  for  coming  here  except,  of  course,  the 
hunting,"  she  added  hastily. 

The  Master   said,  thoughtfully,  that   it   was  kind 


n6          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

of  her  to  put  that.  He  gave  the  signal  to 
move  on. 

Clatter  and  jog  and  bump,  as  they  poured  through 
the  narrow  gate  and  turned  into  the  road  to  Crin 
Gorse,  always  the  first  draw.  Fresh  horses  squealed 
and  plunged,  and  David  Knox,  who  collected,  did  so 
in  danger  of  his  life.  How  The  Star  escaped  breaking 
several  horses'  legs  must  always  remain  a  mystery. 
There  was  a  constant  chorus  of  "  Mind  that  brute  !  " 
until  Moira  was  left  alone  upon  the  footpath  with  a 
space  cleared  behind  her. 

"  The  divil  such  a  kicker  ever  I  saw,"  announced 
Mat  Malone,  riding  up  wide  on  the  left ;  "  and  ye 
out  without  a  bit  of  red  on  her." 

With  the  resource  of  his  race,  he  took  a  horseshoe 
pin  from  his  tie  and  directed  Moira  to  stick  it  in  the 
back  of  her  coat — a  process  inducing  some  pain,  as 
she  twice  got  the  point  home  before  it  was  safely 
adjusted. 

"  'Twould  be  well  for  ye  if  ye  were  out  of  her,"  said 
Malone  thoughtfully,  "  for  she'll  do  a  mischief  yet, 
let  alone  that  good  oats  is  wasted  on  the  likes  of  her. 
Kape  to  the  wesht  whin  they  break,"  he  counselled, 
"  for  the  other  passage  is  very  confined,  and  two  old 
bridges  across  it." 

They  turned  into  a  narrow  lane,  splashed  squelching 
down  it,  and  saw  the  covert  lying  low  amid  swampy 
land.  It  was  cut  across  by  a  great  drain,  which  one 
must  cross  to  get  out,  and  choose  the  half-rotten 
bridge  described  by  Malone,  or  a  scramble  in  and 
out  of  a  muddy  cattle-track,  where  horses  slid  and 
slipped  as  they  breasted  the  ascent.  Even  once 
fairly  away,  the  first  few  fields  were  almost  a  bog, 


The  First  Meet  117 

fenced  by  treacherous,  crumbling  ditches,  full  of 
sullen  brown-hued  water,  and  with  but  one  passage 
over  them. 

"  Let  me  sthay  with  ye,  Miss  Kathleen,"  said 
Malone,  "  an'  I'll  guide  ye."  He  was  riding  a  fretful 
half-broken  grey ;  his  bridle  a  rusty  snaffle,  the  single 
reins  darned  together  with  bootlaces,  his  saddle  was 
propped  off  the  withers  with  a  cotton  pocket-hand- 
kerchief, and  the  rowelless  spurs  tied  to  his  heels 
had  never  been  fellows.  But  his  hands  played  the 
youngster's  mouth  as  he  reached  and  yawed ;  his 
knees,  in  their  patched  breeches,  were  firm  in  their 
easy  grip.  A  horse  bought  from  Mat  Malone  was 
certain  to  possess  manners  and  to  face  his  fences. 
He  could  hustle  a  coward  or  a  rogue  into  deeds  of 
prowess,  could  steady  a  nervous  rusher  until  the  last 
moment,  and  make  him  hop  out  over  a  narrow  bank 
with  an  easy  change  when  the  youngster  had  expected 
to  fly. 

As  he  stood  by  the  girl's  side,  he  kept  a  running 
sotto  voce  commentary  on  the  hunting-field.  "  That 
sthout  ould  felly,  that's  David  Knox,  that  knows 
better  than  a  fox  where  he'd  be  going  to.  If  ye 
want  to  go  aisy  and  see  a  run's  end,  folly  him. 
Him  down  there  with  the  glasses,  that's  Andtherson, 
an'  'twould  be  well  to  see  his  heels  an'  hounds  runnin'. 
Didn't  he  jump  the  government  drain  outside  lasht 
year  on  that  very  bay  mare  ?  That's  Misther  Vereker ; 
but  shure  ye  know  him,  an'  he  rides  well  too.  An' 
his  mother  there,  the  same ;  but  she's  that  jealous 
she'd  lay  her  tongue  to  ye  if  ye  gets  in  front. 
'Twas  all  through  a  big  wall  down  by  Dayly's,  an' 
I  too  hurried  to  hould  the  gate,  that  she  thrun  me 


n8  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

out  of  me  land.  '  Come  back,  Malone/  says  she ; 
'  come  back.'  An',  faix,  I  wouldn't.  Thim  two  young 
Miss  McCarthys ;  they're  the  gurrls  to  go.  Begad !  an' 
there  was  Lady  Mary  Knon,  on  the  chestnut,  and 
Sir  Thomas  Finch,  the  fat  filly,  with  her — thryin'  to 
marry  her,  they  say,  he  havin'  buried  Lady  Finch 
lasht  sphring.  Be  jabers  !  they  has  it,"  he  whispered 
suddenly. 

A  long-drawn  whimper  sounded  close  by  :  they 
could  hear  hounds  as  they  crashed  to  it ;  another, 
and  then  another,  until  it  swelled  to  a  chorus  and  the 
undergrowth  rang  to  the  sound. 

They  were  drawn  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
straggling  gorse,  on  the  wide  space  crossed  by  the 
drain.  Brackens,  gold  and  brown,  edged  the  gorse 
bushes,  growing  high  and  rank  in  the  wet  ground  ; 
the  fern  leaves  stirred,  silence  fell  suddenly,  and  a 
little  red  creature  stepped  out  just  before  them. 

"  A  !  Oh,  it's  a  fox  !  "  It  was  Moira,  crying  out 
in  wild  excitement.  "  Mat  Malone — a  fox  !  I  saw 
a  fox !  " 

*  "  Havin'  eyes,  'twould  be  hard  for  ye  not  to," 
rebuked  Malone,  with  mild  surprise.  "  Be  aisy, 
Miss  Moira.  Sthop  shriekin'." 

"  Stand  still,  please  ;   keep  quiet." 

Out  poured  the  hounds,  spreading  for  a  second ; 
down  went  old  Paragon's  nose,  up  went  his  yelp  of 
triumph ;  now  Melody  echoed  it.  They  dashed  across, 
swarming  in  and  out  of  the  ditch,  and  were  lost  in 
the  thick  gorse  beyond. 

"  Stand  still,  please.  Tom  has  viewed  him 
back." 

The   rush   for   the    passage   was   stayed.     Horses 


The  First  Meet  119 

fretted  and  plunged  against  restraining  bits.  The 
Star  celebrated  the  occasion  by  rearing  twice,  and 
then  kicking  hard  into  the  gorse,  which  pricked 
her  into  surprised  submission.  Gog  raised  one 
ear,  and  took  a  fresh  frond  of  bracken  into  his 
mouth. 

What  was  it  going  to  be  like?  The  Considines 
knew  nothing  of  what  was  before  them.  All  the 
books  of  the  world  teach  nothing  when  a  novice  is 
confronted  by  the  unknown  joys  and  terrors  of  a 
first  hunt.  It  had  sounded  so  easy  far  away.  Now 
they  shivered  with  a  new  nervousness  ;  there  were 
so  many  horses  to  be  got  through,  wedged  as  they 
were  in  the  crowd — so  little  room  to  get  out  down 
the  narrow  track.  There  was  none  of  the  simple 
sailing  through  flat  fields  which  Moira  had  believed 
to  compass  fox-hunting,  and  which  opinion,  as  was 
her  way,  she  had  deeply  impressed  upon  her  plastic 
sisters.  "  We  can  sit  over  jumps  ;  we  want  no  more: 
just  to  keep  near  the  hounds,  and  not  be  afraid  of 
any  fence." 

But  when  one  was  not  allowed  to  follow  hounds, 
but  was  obliged  to  stand  huddled  in  a  corner  while 
the  Master,  a  lean  monarch  on  a  brown  mare,  inclined 
his  head  to  one  side  and  listened  to  a  diminishing 
chorus  of  yelps 

"  He's  back  over  the  drain  again.  It's  a  cub,  I 
think.  Stay  here,  please.  I'll  give  you  a  shout,  if  he's 
off  the  far  side."  Moroney  slipped  into  the  muddy 
depths,  scrambled  up  the  side,  and  disappeared  down 
an  opening. 

"We  shall  be  left  behind— left  behind,"  wailed 
Moira ;  and  people  turned  to  look  at  her,  while  Mat 


i2o          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Malone  counselled  her  in  low  tones  to  restrain  her- 
self. There  was  a  minute's  tense  waiting  as  the 
echoing  chorus  rose  and  fell,  then  a  long,  clear  shout, 
and  a  subsequent  quick  toot-toot  rung  clearly  on  the 
horn.  Now  the  subsequent  experiences  of  the  three 
who  had  never  seen  hounds  must  come  separately, 
and  the  behaviour  of  The  Star  merits  first  place.  As 
the  crowd  surged  forward,  she  rose  with  a  sailing 
bound,  tore  at  her  bits,  and  bolted  ;  in  and  out  of 
the  great  muddy  drain,  churning  the  water  up  as  she 
slipped  and  struggled  up  the  far  side,  clearing  a 
wild  way  for  herself,  until  she  knocked  three  horses 
into  a  composite  condition  at  the  gate,  while  the 
reins,  as  they  tore  through  Moira's  striving  fingers, 
seemed  a  mere  unkind  reminder  of  the  inefficiency 
of  bits. 

Hounds,  with  a  clear  start,  were  streaming  across 
the  low,  marshy  land.  The  land  was  intersected  by 
tiny  drains,  in  which  a  horse  might  almost  break  his 
leg  if  not  taken  carefully ;  it  was  full  of  marshy, 
water-filled  hollows ;  but  The  Star,  nose  in  air,  swept 
over  it  as  a  grey  tornado,  and,  to  do  her  justice,  she 
could  gallop.  Moira  had  hideous  visions  of  those 
little  dark-mouthed  drains  ;  she  bathed  in  clouds  of 
silver  spray  as  her  mare  dashed  unheeding  into  the 
pools  ;  and  she  saw  the  great  drain  gaping  before 
her — wide,  with  crumbling  edges,  with  a  gleam  of 
sullen,  weed-grown  waters,  and  of  uncertain  depth. 
The  impetus  of  The  Star's  pace  made  her  rocket  across 
it  like  a  pheasant,  clearing  it  with  a  foot  to  spare ; 
also,  as  she  struggled  in  heavy  ground  beyond,  she 
ceased  to  run  away,  and  if  Moira  had  not  been  blown 
she  might  have  stopped  her.  Moira's  spirits  rose  to 


The  First  Meet  121 

fever  point,  for,  looking  back,  she  could  see  the  crowd 
of  horses  being  ridden  hard  for  a  passage  across 
the  drain.  She  seemed  to  hear  the  rip  of  the  great, 
much-dreamt-of  cheque  as  it  was  torn  from  the  block  ; 
look  at  the  signature  of  Donough  Moroney  written  at 
the  end.  For  she  could  see  the  velvet  cap  turned  in 
her  direction,  and  knew  he  was  watching  her.  He 
undoubtedly  was.  A  herd  of  lean  calves,  subsisting 
on  the  poor  land,  had  crossed  and  foiled  the  line ; 
hounds  were  dwelling,  and  in  another  moment  Moira 
would  be  in  the  middle  of  them. 

"  That  wonderful  grey  mare ! "  Moira,  galloping 
on,  glad  of  the  spongy  turf,  which  made  The  Star 
labour  and  pant,  put  the  words  into  his  mouth. 

"  That  great  long-backed  camel  has  bolted  with  the 
girl,"  was  what  the  Master  said  to  old  Knox,  whose 
powerful  horse  could  keep  pace  in  the  dirt  with  the 
little  brown  mare.  "  She's  riding  slap  through  the 
bog  as  if  it  was  over  a  croquet  lawn.  And  if  she 
was  drowned  it  would  stop  a  nice  hunt,"  he  added 
gloomily.  "  There !  I  knew  it." 

Hounds  threw  up  their  heads,  as  the  now  frightened 
calves .  lumped  off  to  higher  land.  They  spread  far 
out,  with  noses  to  earth,  knowing  that  they  must  help 
themselves  unless  assistance  was  absolutely  necessary. 
The  Star,  who  had  been  straining  every  nerve  to 
reach  them,  galloped  into  their  midst  with  a  gasp  of 
triumph,  and  then  kicked  at  every  one  she  could  see, 
with  good  aim  and  all  the  vigour  she  could  gather. 
Paragon  fled  with  a  sore  side ;  Pansy  roared  in 
anguish  at  a  kick  on  the  nose ;  Ladybird  sat  down 
and  wept  over  a  bruised  shoulder.  The  clamour  was 
deafening,  and  Moira  was  not  quite  clear  whether  it 


122  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

mattered  or  whether  her  prowess  in  being  so  near 
them  made  up  for  a  few  playful  kicks. 

The  distant  thunder,  wafted  on  the  breeze,  en- 
lightened her.  She  could  not  complain  of  lack  of 
attention,  for  Moroney  was  standing  up  in  his  stirrups, 
and  it  was  perhaps  fortunate  that  distance  rendered 
his  flow  of  remonstrations  indistinct.  But  the  frantic 
waving  of  his  arms  explained  his  meaning,  just  as 
Moira  had  reached  a  spot  where  progress  was  bounded 
on  the  east  and  west  by  two  gaping  bog-holes,  and 
on  the  north  and  south  by  the  yelping  pack.  It  is 
possible  she  might  have  tried  to  jump  the  bog-holes, 
and  fulfilled  Moroney's  fears  of  stopping  the  hunt ; 
but  at  that  moment  Paragon,  who,  having  been  kicked 
first,  was  now  out  of  pain,  hit  it  off.  They  swung 
left,  away  from  the  treacherous  bog,  with  its  deep  cuts 
and  piles  of  turf,  away  to  higher  land,  running  as  hard 
as  the  Ballydare  ladies'  pack  can  run.  Now  Melody  had 
it,  now  Pansy,  then  old  Paragon  led  again,  her  lemon- 
and-white  body  clear  of  the  rest  as  they  drove  ahead, 
bustling  for  blood.  Now  tongues  were  thrown,  now 
they  ran  mute,  on  a  red-hot  up-wind  scent.  Moira's 
heart  throbbed  to  it ;  the  glory  of  fox-hunting, 
ignorant  as  she  was,  rioted  in  her  blood.  To  her  it 
was  no  appreciation  of  hounds,  but  the  joy  of  the 
pace — The  Star  was  not  spared  across  the  bog — the 
rush  of  the  west  wind  on  her  heated  face,  the  ripple 
of  the  mare's  shoulders  as  they  cut  the  air  in  front  of 
her.  What  wonder  that  men  swear  by  hunting,  and, 
forsaking  all  other,  cleave  only  unto  that !  And  she 
— her  foolish  heart  sang  a  paean — was  alone  with  the 
hounds.  Moira  had  time  to  think  this  as  she  galloped, 
to  roll  the  foretaste  of  congratulations  on  her  tongue. 


The  First  Meet  123 

As  they  swung  in  a  half-wide,  their  point  a  low, 
gorse-grown  hill,  they  came  to  the  field,  who,  having 
avoided  the  bog,  were  waiting  for  hounds  to  get  by. 
From  Crin  Gorse  to  Knock  Hill  was  an  almost  inevit- 
able line.  There  was  another  passage  to  be  raced 
for  before  one  got  into  fair  going ;  another  of  those 
bottomless  drains  to  be  avoided.  Moira  saw  the  race 
with  contempt,  and  galloped  for  the  drain.  But  The 
Star  running  away,  and  The  Star  exceedingly  blown, 
were  two.  The  mare  had  no  intention  of  risking  her 
just- won  reputation  ;  she  swerved  on  the  verge  ;  there 
was  a  moment's  sickening  struggle  and  plop  of  turfy 
edges  into  cool  depths,  and  the  grey  raced  hard  to 
join  the  other  horses.  The  passage  was  a  narrow 
one,  with  a  stone  gap  fencing  it,  and  they  reached  it 
just  as  the  Master,  followed  by  Knox  and  Anderson, 
were  upon  it.  The  Star  resented  their  presence. 
With  a  rush  she  squeezed  in  and  jumped,  hurling  the 
light-weight  on  to  General  Knox,  and  General  Knox's 
heavy  brown  on  to  the  Master,  and  sent  that  unsus- 
pecting gentleman's  mare  on  to  her  knees  in  a  sea 
of  dirt.  As  the  three  extricated  themselves,  and  the 
Master  (who  had  jumped  off)  dived  for  his  stirrups, 
they  turned  their  wrathful  faces,  and  words  seemed 
beyond  them.  Moroney,  who  seemed  to  have  got 
past  wrath,  and  to  be  praying  a  little,  wrenched  his 
bridle  and  slipped  out  right-handed.  Mr.  Anderson, 
who  had  come  on  his  left  side,  did  not  pray,  but 
seemed  to  want  to  be  quite  quiet  and  alone  at  the  left 
to  say  what  he  wanted,  and  left  fat  old  Knox,  as  he 
wiped  half  a  pound  of  mud  from  his  forehead  and 
nose,  to  wrestle  with  the  matter. 

"She — she  would    come,"   said    Moira   unhappily. 


124          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

The  expression  of  the  Master's  back  made  her  cheque 
seem  farther  off. 

What  General  Knox  said,  indistinctly — for  the  mud 
had  drifted  to  his  mouth — was  that  if  he  owned  a  brute 
like  that  he'd  shoot  it.  Then,  being  a  kindly  old  man, 
he  proffered  some  muddy  and  breathless  advice  con- 
cerning ill-broken  beasts,  the  etiquette  of  hunting,  and 
the  absolute  necessity  of  being  able  to  stop  a  horse 
when  one  wanted  to.  "  It's  a  shame  to  put  a  lady  on 
such  an  animal,"  he  gasped,  as  they  stretched  across 
the  firmer  land. 

Moira,  in  shrill  treble,  explained  The  Star's  inex- 
perience and  the  purity  of  blood  which  made  her 
foolish  and  impetuous.  She  would  probably  have 
proceeded  to  enumerate  the  whole  pedigree  in  a 
shriek,  for  the  wind  tore  her  words  away,  but  a  low 
green  bank  loomed  in  front.  General  Knox's  brown 
slipped  over  with  an  easy  change,  The  Star  treated  it 
as  a  raised  drain,  and  fell  into  the  fortunately  shallow 
trench  at  the  far  side.  Moira,  losing  patience,  hit  her, 
for  another  bank  was  close  in  front.  The  blow  and 
complete  loss  of  wind  soured  the  equine  constellation. 
She  flung  out  her  fore  legs  sullenly,  and  declined  to 
jump  at  all. 

Horse  after  horse  thundered  up  and  hopped  over, 
until  the  last  tail  of  the  spread-out  field  had  passed,  and 
still  The  Star,  who  had  kicked  impartially  at  anything 
she  thought  she  could  reach,  remained  where  she  was, 
snatching  mouthfuls  of  grass  in  the  intervals  of  plung- 
ing away  from  the  stick.  There  is  no  task  more 
hopeless  or  tiring  than  the  tussle  with  an  obstinate 
refuser.  Moira  rested  from  sheer  exhaustion,  and,  as 
if  to  add  to  her  misery,  the  hunt  in  full  view  swept 


The  First  Meet  125 

across  the  slope  of  the  hill  towards  a  long  wood, 
having  got  their  fox  through  the  gorse  with  little  delay. 
The  hounds  were  specks  now,  running  fast  across  the 
green  fields,  slipping  over  the  distance-dwarfed  fences. 
The  man  in  pink  on  the  long-tailed  horse  going  beside 
them  was  the  Master.  How  easily  he  took  his 
fences ;  no  flying  or  falling  there.  She  thought  she 
could  distinguish  General  Knox — reflection  brought 
a  memory  of  a  gleam  of  pleasure  as  he  had  turned  his 
head  to  see  The  Star  refusing.  There  was  a  woman 
close  up,  some  one  on  a  little  horse.  Could  it  be 
Kathleen  on  her  worthless  cob  ?  Then  a  medley  of 
horses  and  a  glimpse  of  occasional  falls ;  of  distant 
riders  turning  away  and  looking  for  soft  spots  ;  of  the 
inevitable  sheep-like  tail,  jumping  one  by  one  behind 
the  other.  Then  far  behind  these  a  lady  coming  fast 
and  furiously,  and  yet  two  fields  another  lady  alone, 
on  a  high  brown  horse.  Moira  stared.  The  lumpy 
stilted  gallop  ;  the  majestic  deliberation  on  the  fences. 
This  whipper-in  of  the  hunt  must  be  Eva  on  Gog. 
There  were  tears  in  Moira's  eyes  as  she  realised  the 
sharp  line  drawn  between  the  triumphs  she  had 
dreamt  and  the  bitter  reality  of  what  had  occurred. 
She,  on  The  Star,  had  reached  hounds,  knocked 
down  two  members  of  the  hunt,  been  left  behind 
before  them  all.  Eva  was  last  of  all. 

The  tale  of  Eva's  experience  was  shorter  and  less 
varied.  When  she  had  wrenched  Gog's  head  up  from 
the  bracken  and  started  him,  she  had  then  borne  away 
in  the  crowd  to  the  wooden  bridges  and  tried  to  cross, 
but  Gog  was  a  careful  horse.  He  put  his  mighty  feet 
upon  the  boards  and  snorted  and  stood  still ;  he  would 
not  go ;  he  could  not  back,  for  a  furious  crowd  surged 


126  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

at  his  docked  tail.  In  vain  a  rain  of  whips  fell  upon 
his  fat  quarters  :  he,  who  had  pulled  six  drunken  men 
home  from  fairs  and  markets,  thought  little  of  whips. 
The  crowd,  recognising  defeat,  flew  back  the  other 
way,  but  fate  elected  that  Mrs.  Vereker,  who  had 
been  standing  outside,  and  suffered  from  the  flurry 
of  a  bad  start,  should  gallop  down  for  the  bridge  and 
find  Eva  in  possession. 

To  pass  was  impossible.  A  hail  of  words  more 
biting  than  blows  were  useless.  "  Back  the  brute, 
back  him  ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Vereker  furiously,  but 
Gog,  hearing  so  much  noise,  would  not  back.  He 
sniffed  at  the  boards  occasionally,  absolutely  declining 
to  move. 

Mrs.  Vereker's  temper  was  rent  to  fragments.  She 
pounded  Gog  with  a  light  and  inefficient  whip, 
shrieked  until  her  voice  went ;  she  even  tweaked  and 
wrung  his  tail,  and  matters  remained  until  even  gentle 
Eva  was  forced  to  remonstrate. 

"  It's  as  bad  for  me  as  for  you,"  she  said  tear- 
fully. 

Mrs.  Vereker  grew  desperate.  She  essayed  to  pass 
with  a  rush,  and  there  was  just  room  for  one.  Gog 
sidled  and  turned,  and  both  ladies  were  wedged 
fast  in  living  nearness,  while  the  bridge  creaked 
ominously. 

"  Can't  you  even  turn  the  great  brute  ?  Have  you 
no  idea  of  riding  ?  "  foamed  the  furious  lady,  who  could 
have  gone  back,  but  would  not. 

"  Shure,  the  bridge'll  fall  and  let  ye  both  out." 
Eva  thought  she  had  never  heard  a  sweeter  sound 
than  Patsy's  voice  as  he  emerged  from  the  bushes, 
his  face  flushed  with  enthusiasm.  "  I  declare  to 


The  First  Meet  127 

God  ye  can  see  the  timbers  bending."  He  took 
Gog  by  the  bridle.  "  He  has  the  mind  of  a 
Christian,"  he  observed  angrily,  "an'  the  obstinacy 
of  a  Turk. 

"  Shure  they're  stampeding  wesht  outside  away  to 
the  hills,  going  fasht,  Miss  Moira  first  away.  Didn't 
The  Star  swheep  the  bog  drain,  an'  out  into  the  bog, 
and  gallop  into  the  middle  of  the  hounds,  no  less  ?  I 
think  by  their  aisin'  a  few  is  like  to  be  dead,  but  who'd 
miss  a  dog  or  two  from  that  lot  ?  Array,  Borrisdcane 
for  iver !  He  won't  stir,  Miss  Eva."  The  gentle 
suggestion  from  Mrs.  Vereker  that  he  was  a  complete 
idiot,  sharpened  Patsy's  wits.  He  loosed  his  hold, 
stepped  back  and,  removing  his  cap,  held  it  out 
invitingly  with  both  hands.  Gog  thought  of  food, 
and  abandoned  his  fears.  He  crossed  the  bridge,  and 
Mrs.  Vereker,  with  a  last  snort  of  rage,  dashed  away 
at  a  furious  pace. 

"  Truly  we  seem  ordained  to  offend  her,"  murmured 
Eva  as  she  laboured  in  pursuit. 

Mrs.  Vereker,  blaming  Eva  for  everything,  was  fated 
to  do  wrong.  She  essayed  a  short  cut  to  the  right, 
and  found  a  closed  gate  just  as  the  hounds  swung  left. 
Eva,  who  saw  no  other  guide,  followed  her,  and  the 
pound,  pound  of  the  big  horse's  hoofs  came  just  as 
the  gate  was  open.  Gog  was  slow,  painfully  slow, 
but  he  toiled  diligently  and  never  fell.  Fast  as 
Mrs.  Vereker  went,  there  was  always  something  to 
prevent  her  shaking  off  the  girl  at  her  heels.  First, 
having  to  come  back  from  a  wired  fence,  then, 
which  proved  wrong,  taking  a  short  cut  advised 
by  a  countryman,  and  so  on,  until  Moira  saw  them 
pursuing  along  the  slope  of  the  hill,  with  Eva  now 


128  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

two  fields  behind,  and  hounds  in  full  swing  a  mile 
in  front. 

At  this  point  The  Star  suddenly  jumped  and  did 
not  fall.  A  couple  of  gaps  led  to  a  lane  winding 
along  towards  the  wood  ;  and,  directed  by  friendly 
men,  who  all  described  the  hunt  with  fervour,  Moira 
reached  the  woods  as  hounds  were  coming  out,  having 
put  the  fox  to  ground  in  a  rabbit  burrow.  Morency 
cast  a  sad  eye  upon  the  grey  mare.  It  is  possible 
that,  had  he  known  she  was  to  sell,  he  would  have 
bought  her  on  the  spot  for  the  pleasure  of  never 
seeing  her  again.  As  it  was,  he  merely  muttered  to 
himself,  and  shot  out  some  icy  directions  to  keep  that 
kicker  away  while  hounds  got  by. 

Mrs.  Vereker's  glance  as  she  passed  was  not  lacking 
in  expression.  The  episodes  of  sheep,  cards,  and 
wooden  bridge  had  made  her  look  upon  the  Con- 
sidines  as  personal  enemies ;  was  inducing  her  now  to 
let  her  sharp  tongue  run  riot,  and  to  endeavour  to 
prevent  any  of  the  more  kindly  women  from  taking 
any  notice  of  the  strangers.  Three  pretty  girls 
coming  to  a  land  full  of  marriageable  daughters  and 
sons  were  never  likely  to  be  welcome.  Mrs.  Vereker 
made  up  her  mind  the  more  swiftly  as  she  saw 
Dennis  riding  with  Eva,  whom  she  had  at  last  shaken 
off,  that  there  would  be  something  which  was  not 
quite  the  want  of  welcome ;  but  a  cold  breath  which 
should  chill  these  little  adventuresses  to  their  hearts. 
And  even  with  her  son's  too  evident  admiration,  it 
was  not  Eva  whom  she  objected  to,  but  defiant  Moira, 
with  her  grey  eyes  and  her  light-hued  hair.  Some 
fancy,  strong  enough  to  savour  of  some  strange 
instinct,  made  her  feeling  towards  Moira  one  of 


The  First  Meet  129 

absolutely  active  dislike,  made  her  determine  to  leave 
no  stone  unturned  which  should  injure  the  girl.  The 
tale  of  Mrs.  Vereker's  call,  with  skilful  handling,  was 
made  to  assume  gigantic  proportions  ;  riot  and 
romping  with  strange  young  men  ;  a  familiar  old 
farm-servant ;  farmers  received  in  the  drawing-room. 
The  cold  voice  uttered  the  story  until  heads  were 
nodded  towards  the  Considines  and  shoulders 
shrugged. 

"  Oh,  so  good  of  you  to  tell  me.  Of  course  I  shan't 
call  on  them.  We  don't  want  that  class  of  thing  done 
here,  dear  Mrs.  Vereker." 

So,  as  Moira,  with  the  bitterness  of  failure  chill 
upon  her,  jogged  along  the  road,  the  evidence  was 
summed  up,  and  the  verdict  given.  Ballydare  did 
not  mean  to  receive  them.  Then  the  red-headed 
girl,  Miss  Geoghan,  they  had  seen  in  the  town,  was 
effusively  anxious  to  talk,  and,  with  her  brother, 
sidled  close  at  each  opportunity ;  but  Moira's  moody 
face  was  not  encouraging. 

Dennis,  on  going  up  to  Eva,  inquired  for  his 
mother,  whom  he  had  missed.  "  Have  you  seen 
her  ?  "  he  said. 

Eva  remarked  drily  that  for  a  full  half-hour  she 
had  seen  no  one  else  ;  and  as  Dennis  was  disposed 
to  beam  at  this  indication  of  friendship,  she  proceeded 
to  explain. 

"And  it  was  not  my  fault,  though  your  mother 
said  it  was,"  observed  Eva  sadly.  "  I  don't  think 
she'll  ever  forgive  me  or  my  horse." 

Dennis,  watching  her  pretty,  despondent  face,  sighed 
deeply.  He  was  a  weak  and  indecisive  young  fellow, 
and  completely  ruled  by  his  mother  ;  but  his  plastic, 

9 


130  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

boyish  fancy  had  received  a  deeper  impression  than 
he  had  ever  yet  known  of. 

"  Was  she  very  angry  ?  "  he  said  dolefully. 
The  closing  up  of  Mr.  Cornelius  Geoghan  on  Eva's 
other  side  cut  short  the  conversation.  Cornelius, 
staring  open-mouthed  at  pretty  Eva,  was  palpably 
determined  to  talk,  and  to  admire  and  praise 
effusively,  even  down  to  Gog's  feet. 

Moira  was  at  this  point  joined  by  Captain  Milton, 
strangely  clean  for  a  man  who  had  ridden  a  hard 
hunt.  He  was  reserved  at  first ;  but  on  hearing  of 
her  bad  fortune,  his  pity  loomed  clear  as  a  harvest 
moon.  He  gave  her  kind  advice,  too,  as  to  the  riding 
of  the  mare. 

"  A  little  handling,  a  little  experience,  would  have 
brought  her  through  the  hunt,"  he  said  pleasantly. 
"  Now,  some  day  I'll  ride  her  for  you,  and  just  show 
her  what  to  do." 

He  then  proceeeded  to  describe  how  he  had  been 
in  first  all  through,  and  how  splendidly  he  had  seen 
it  all.  "  Over  a  big  country,  too,"  said  Captain  Milton, 
"  one  that  really  wanted  doing.  Oh !  I've  seldom 
been  nearer  to  them.  Fact  is  " — he  grew  confidential 
— "  I  caught  it  once  for  pressing  them  just  over  the 
stream,  where  they  checked." 

Moira  listened  with  unbounded  admiration.  "There 
was  one  enormous  jump,"  said  Milton,  warming  to  his 
subject — "  a  bank,  stone-faced,  with  bushes  on  the  top. 
Nearly  every  one  funked.  It  was  just  at  the  end, 

but  I " 

Kathleen,  pink  with  excitement,  dashed  Jim  Crow 
between  them. 

"Oh,  hasn't  it  been   glorious?     There   is    nothing 


The  First  Meet  131 

on  earth  like  hunting.  I  followed  Malone,  and 
Jim  Crow  went  so  perfectly.  Nothing  seemed  too 
big  for  him,  and  he  galloped  so  fast.  I'm  the 
luckiest  girl  in  the  world,"  said  Kathleen  blithely. 
She  looked  at  Milton  with  dawning  pity.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  never  picked  them  up  after  you  stopped 
at  the  bank  before  the  first  road,"  she  said.  "  Malone 
told  me  it  was  a  dirty  place  entirely.  Were  you 
afraid  your  poor  horse  would  not  be  able  to  get 
across  ?  " 

The  violent  empurpling  of  Lancelot  Milton's  face 
showed  his  appreciation  of  this  sympathy. 

"  My  horse  refused,"  he  said  jerkily.  "  I  came  on 
at  once." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  saw  you  turning  up  the  road." 
Kathleen's  brutal  candour  was  quite  devoid  of  intent 
to  offend.  "  Malone  said  it  was  a  hard,  safe  place. 
Lots  of  people  galloped  along  it,  but  we  never  left 
the  hounds.  And  poor  Mrs.  Vereker  too " — the 
high-pitched,  youthful  voice  carried  back  to  a  wrath- 
ful lady  just  behind — "  I  saw  her  miles  and  miles 
behind.  I  suppose  there  are  lots  of  horses  one  could 
not  ride  over  high  fences  ?  " 

Captain  Milton  grunted  sharply,  and  the  hardest- 
riding  lady  of  the  Ballydare  Hunt  felt  that  her  cup 
of  injury  was  overflowing.  She  smote  her  good  bay 
upon  the  shoulder,  and  the  look  in  her  eyes  was  not 
good  to  see. 

The  day  wound  to  an  unsuccessful  close.  A  fat 
cub  was  killed  and  eaten  in  the  Glynne  woods. 
Another,  a  ringing  brute,  close  pressed,  got  to  ground 
at  Banogue,  and  then  dimness  was  chasing  daylight 
from  the  sky,  and  it  was  time  to  go  home. 


132  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

The  Considines  were  very  tired  and  stiff.  Knees 
ached  from  unaccustomed  gripping  of  saddles,  backs 
ached  ;  they  knew  with  sorrow  that  the  waist 
measurements  sent  for  the  new  habits  had  been 
prompted  by  vanity. 

They  rode  homewards  together — groups  of  people 
all  round  riding  together,  but  they  were  alone. 
Milton,  offended  by  Kathleen,  had  left  Moira  ;  they 
were  friendless  in  a  strange  land. 

They  could  hear  the  hunting  talk,  which  never 
palls,  all  round  them,  as  they  rode  silently,  oppressed 
and  weary. 

The  sky  had  cleared  ;  there  was  a  touch  of  frost  in 
the  calm  air.  Flushed  with  triumph,  the  sun  sank, 
and,  as  lovers  part,  so  the  sky  glowed  with  memory 
to  his  good-bye.  High  in  the  west  a  cloud  poised, 
purple-bodied,  crimson-fringed  ;  through  a  tangle  of 
leafy  boughs  they  could  see  the  river  run  red,  as 
though  with  the  world's  blood.  Thin  mist  rose ; 
white  wraiths  about  the  lowlands,  pointing  chill,  slug- 
gish fingers  towards  the  corner  where  their  new  home 
stood. 

As  they  turned  to  reach  the  narrow  bridge,  which 
was  their  shortest  way,  Lancelot  Milton's  self-esteem 
became  mended,  and  he  stopped. 

"Mrs.  Hamilton,"  he  introduced  graciously.  "She'll 
come  to  call  on  you  if  you  won't  shy  cards  at  her 
head." 

Moira  dimpled  pretty  thanks.  They  were  too  glad 
of  any  caller. 

"And  I'll  send  the  regiment  by  degrees."  Milton 
spoke  with  assertive  condescension.  "  Mustn't  let 
you  be  lonely.  Eh?  Good-night.' 


The  First  Meet  133 

"  Have  you  gathered  " — Eva  urged  Gog  to  jog  as 
they  crossed  the  steep  bridge — "  that  he — that  man — 
was  condescending  to  be  kind  to  us  ?  " 

She  dashed  Gog  on  to  Patsy  and  supper,  and 
Biddy,  as  she  plied  them  with  tea,  said  that  follyin' 
dogs  was  no  work  for  young  ladies.  "  Hadn't  they 
faces  on  them  like  Mary  Daly,  that  was  took  with  a 
decline  lasht  May  year?" 

The  two  elder  Miss  Considines  declined  to  be 
cheered. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

RETURNING    A    CALL 

I  WONDER,"  said  Eva  thoughtfully,  as  she  came 
in  to  breakfast,  "  if  any  one  ever  means  to  call 
upon  us  here  at  all  ? " 

She  said  it  cheerfully,  for  a  night's  rest  had  brought 
reaction,  and  their  sinking  spirits  had  revived.  After 
all,  as  Moira  remarked,  one  could  not  expect,  especi- 
ally with  four  year  olds,  to  succeed  at  first.  Gog, 
though  he  was  a  little  slow,  had  jumped  perfectly. 
The  Star  had  cleared  a  mighty  drain.  Kathleen's  little 
cob  had  carried  her  close  to  hounds. 

They  discussed  it  all  as  the  smoky  fire  lurked 
in  wait  for  them,  sending  down  its  rolling  volumes 
of  pungent  greyness  when  it  thought  they  were  not 
watching. 

"  Call,  of  course  people  will  call,"  said  Moira 
testily.  "  I  am  just  going  to  write  to  the  Hermit,  to 
tell  him  what  a  success  it  all  is,  how  I  pounded  the 
field  and  Eva " 

"  Stuck  on  a  bridge,"  said  Eva  thoughtfully.  She 
could  smile  at  the  scene  now.  Absolutely  sweet- 
natured  herself,  she  could  not  understand  another 
woman  bearing  malice  for  what  was  so  palpably  an 
accident, 

'34 


Returning  a  Call  135 

"  Tell  the  Hermit  how  I  stopped  the  hard-riding 
lady,"  laughed  Eva,  "and  how  you  knocked  down 
three  men  and  kicked  the  hounds,  and  how  awfully 
nice  all  the  Ballydare  people  have  been  to  us." 

"  I  can  tell  him  about  fat  old  General  Knox  and 
Dennis  Vereker,"  said  Moira,  groaning  as  she 
stretched  out  an  arm.  "  I  can  just  show  him  how 
silly  and  stupid  he  was,  and  how  he  misjudged  our 
horses." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Eva  slowly.  "  I  wonder — I  know — 
I  wish  he  was  here  now,"  she  added  sharply. 

Moira  said  nothing,  but  she  wondered  why  she 
suddenly  felt  so  cross  and  lonely. 

A  visit  to  the  stables  revealed  The  Star,  a  com- 
plete wreck,  languidly  partaking  of  flax-seed  tea, 
and  the  mighty  Gog  moving  stiffly  on  swollen 
limbs. 

Patsy,  polishing  a  bridle,  appeared  from  the  cup- 
board which  he  called  the  saddle-room. 

"  An'  Gog,"  he  said,  "  has  the  two  foremosht  legs 
swelled  up  like  bolsthers,  while  The  Star's  that  dead 
she  wouldn't  even  pick  her  bed." 

Inexperience  could  suggest  no  remedy  for  Gog's 
swollen  limbs.  Patsy  thought  'twas  what  "  they  called 
a  weed,  but  he  took  his  oats,"  said  the  groom, "  bether 
than  that  poor  wisp  of  a  grey  that's  so  casht  down  she 
wouldn't  even  kick  at  ye." 

Moira  tried  apples  and  carrots  vainly.  The 
descendant  of  Solon  drooped  her  lean  head  and 
tottered  upon  her  thin  legs  as  if  death  were  nigh 
her. 

"Old  Dunne  says  that  class  is  apt  to  die  in  the 
night  after  a  hard  day,"  said  Patsy  cheerfully. 


136          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

But  his  face  was  alight  when,  having  reviewed  all 
the  equine  ills,  and  told  them  Jim  Crow  didn't  leave 
an  oat,  he  fell  to  speaking  of  hunting. 

"  Niver  in  me  life  did  I  hope  to  see  the  like,"  he 
said.  "  With  the  red  coats,  an1  all  the  shinin'  fine 
horses,  an'  the  great  complement  of  dogs  yelping  an' 
schreechin'  together.  I  was  struck  down  in  the  furry 
bushes,"  he  declaimed,  "  whin  the  fox  pasht  me  out, 
an'  I  declare  to  God  he  thrun  an  eye  on  me  sour  as  a 
Christian,  may  be  thinkin'  I'd  bawl  out.  I  could 
nearly  run  the  smhell  of  him  meself  without  ev' 
a  dog.  An'  with  that  whin  the  young  huntsman 
saw  him,  the  tearin'  an'  the  shovin',  an'  the  mud 
risin'  like  rain  from  the  ground,  an'  thin  scramblin' 
at  the  gap  an'  out  across  the  field,  with  the  dogs 
mad  on  the  trail,  an'  every  felly  beltin'  his  horse 
to  kape  up." 

This  was  clearly  a  flight  of  fancy  on  Patsy's  part. 

"  A'  then  didn't  I  see  Miss  Moira  flighten  out  like  a 
duck  across  the  wather,  and  Miss  Kathleen  going 
quiet  an'  aisy  but  well  out  in  front  ?  Sure,  I  ran  till 
the  breath  left  me  own  body,  an'  thin  whin  I  wint 
back  for  the  bicycle  didn't  I  find  poor  Miss  Eva 
in  hoults  with  the  ould  wan  on  the  bridge?  'Twas 
the  gran'  day  we  left  Borrisdeane  to  see  its  like, 
an'  if  ye  plaze,  Miss  Eva,  I'm  wantin'  a  load  of 
sthraw." 

Eva,  peering  at  the  golden  depths  about  the  horses, 
timidly  suggested  waste. 

On  Patsy's  retorting  that  he  was  but  doin'  what 
the  soldier  officer  told  him,  she  sighed  and  said  no 
more.  The  keeping  of  horses  was  not  a  cheap 
amusement. 


Returning  a  Call  137 

"An'  himself  that's  the  triminjus  huntsman," 
remarked  Patsy  contemptuously.  "  I  seen  him. 
'  Wo-a — wo-a,'  says  he,  at  the  first  fince  out  of  the 
bog.  '  Wo-a,'  says  he.  '  I  can't  howld  the  brute,'  and 
he  bearing  on  the  reins  as  trustful  as  if  they  were 
stheel  ropes.  An'  faix  he  wo-a-ed  till  the  gap  was 
level,  and  thin  he  wint  out.  I'm  thinking  he's  a 
greater  man  in  a  sthable  yard  than  he  is  outside." 
Patsy,  who  had  spent  several  weary  hours  endeavouring 
to  plait  straw,  was  still  resentful.  Certain  rolls  which 
he  called  "  soogawns  "  now  decorated  the  edge  of  the 
horses'  beds. 

Moira  took  the  dejected  Star  to  eat  grass,  while 
Patsy  led  Gog  round  the  little  gravel  sweep,  observing 
with  much  anger  as  he  went  that  "  you  could  girth  a 
saddle  around  thim  legs,"  and  Eva  went  to  receive 
Biddy's  directions  as  to  housekeeping.  The  weekly 
cheques  were  swelling  here,  where  everything  had  to 
be  paid  for,  and  there  was  no  Strawberry  to  give  milk, 
or  little  flocks  of  fat  chickens  and  ducks  in  the  back 
yard.  Eva's  face  grew  thoughtful  over  her  bills,  and 
Biddy,  when  it  came  to  buying,  was  no  economist 
Mr.  Dunne,  now  mending  a  back  door,  where  he  said 
there  was  a  "  blasht  of  air  that'd  turn  a  spit,"  was,  as 
usual,  remaining  to  dinner. 

His  ever  sympathetic  ears  had  already  heard  the 
tales  of  the  chase.  The  drain  which  Moira  jumped 
he  averred  to  be  a  bottomless  trap,  and  he  received 
the  story  of  Eva's  blocking  the  bridge  with  a 
thoughtful  air. 

"  Bitther  an'  black  ;  bitther  an'  black,"  he  said. 
"  Twould  be  bether  for  ye  nivir  to  see  a  hunt  than 
to  cross  her.  I  tell  ye,  Miss  Eva  and  Miss  Moira,  I 


138  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

think  the  bitterness  of  what  she  did  to  young  Grattan 
long  ago  has  sthuck  within  her  heart.  Oh,  she's  well 
known  to  be  the  wicked  woman  whin  she's  crossed. 
I  used  to  work  up  at  Knock  reg'lar,  doin'  odd  jobs 
there,  and  I  gave  her  but  one  answer,  tellin'  her  she 
med  a  mistake  whin  she  told  me  to  alther  some  boards 
I  was  puttin'up  in  an  outhouse.  '  Oh,  you  think  that 
same,  do  ye  ? '  says  she.  The  nose  on  her  shook  at 
the  sides  an'  went  white,  an'  the  eye  she  thrun  on 
me'd  have  pierced  iron.  Not  another  word  she  said  ; 
but  I  got  me  due  that  night,  an'  was  told  to  come  no 
more — a  great  loss  to  me,  for  I  was  a  dacent,  hard- 
workin'  by-e  then,  before  me  wife  died  an'  I  tuk  to  the 
dhrink."  There  was  candour  about  old  Dunne  very 
hard  to  resist.  His  white- whiskered  face  was  so  kindly 
beneath  its  network  of  deep  lines,  the  gleam  in  his 
watery  blue  eyes  so  full  of  humour ;  and  now  that 
Biddy  fed  him  he  drank  but  little. 

As  they  rested  aching  limbs  during  an  idle  morning, 
the  Considines  decided  that  it  was  time  to  return  their 
one  call. 

"  Then  if  any  one  does  come  to  see  us  we  shall  be 
out,"  said  Moira  viciously. 

Old  Dunne,  on  being  consulted,  knew  a  "  frind " 
who  had  a  fine  "cyar"  for  hire,  and  was  dispatched 
to  fetch  it. 

The  plumed  hats  and  long  dresses  were  again 
produced,  Kathleen  electing  to  stay  at  home  in 
lazy  comfort,  and  to  send  away  the  callers  if  they 
came. 

The  car  of  Dunne's  friend  was  drawn  by  a  raking 
roan  horse,  with  a  rope  kicking-strap  and  a  decided 
temper.  After  a  few  undecided  plunges  he  started 


Returning  a  Call  139 

affably,  taking  them  along  the  Castle  Crin  road  in  a 
series  of  shying  bucks. 

Castle  Knock  was  some  six  miles  away,  a  gloomy 
grey  pile  facing  a  stretch  of  straight  avenues.  Con- 
servatories, built  by  old  Vereker  to  please  his  bride, 
lengthened  the  already  over-long  house.  Belts  of 
trees  hemmed  it  in,  and  a  mass  of  evergreen  oaks, 
dully  green,  shaded  each  wing — so  close,  they  dripped 
upon  the  grey  walls.  There  was  no  brightness  about 
it.  Clipped  yews,  grim  and  dark,  sheltered  the  lawn 
before  the  door.  If  no  wind  could  blow  upon  it 
roughly,  the  sun  could  never  shine  fully,  save  on  the 
upper  storeys.  The  gate,  guarded  by  great  white 
monsters,  was  a  gap  in  the  belt  of  yews  ;  then,  as 
one  came  to  the  door,  there  were  other  gaps  cut  here 
and  there  to  give  a  glimpse  of  the  sloping  lawn. 

Now  Mrs.  Vereker  had  a  party  :  a  select  circle  of 
friends  to  play  bridge  and  drink  tea.  There  was  no 
gaiety  at  Castle  Knock — the  gleam  of  white  marble 
watchers,  the  depth  of  the  heavy  carpet,  the  enervating 
heat  of  the  hot-water  pipes  warming  the  house  seemed 
to  subdue  the  stranger  who  walked  down  the  big 
corridor.  One  could  not  talk  or  laugh  between  that 
gleaming  line,  who  poised  their  marble  limbs  in 
curves  of  chilly  beauty.  The  butler's  stately  grey 
hairs  would  have  risen  at  a  too  merry  laugh,  the 
great  footman  have  turned  and  doubtless  welcomed 
it.  Stillness  hung  about  the  place,  stillness  and  a 
constant  gloom.  Voices  seemed  to  echo  in  the  long 
drawing-room ;  unconsciously  tones  fell,  and  faces 
stiffened,  as  they  passed  between  the  white-and-gold 
doors.  The  splendid  hangings  were  neutral  and 
colourless,  the  Wilton-pile  carpet  spread  drably  dull 


140          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

against  a  white  paper.  The  chairs  seemed  to  find 
cause  for  offence  in  being  sat  on,  so  chilly  was  the 
expression  of  their  satin  coverings.  Long  mirrors 
gleamed  against  the  wall ;  Dutch  pictures,  exquisite 
but  lifeless,  were  hung  upon  them  ;  and  the  gleam  of 
white  marble  shone  wherever  a  statue  could  stand. 
The  haughty,  handsome  owner  of  the  place  made 
them  her  hobby,  loving  the  delicacy  of  their  limbs, 
living,  with  some  strange  note  of  sympathy  or  envy, 
the  semblance  of  life  which  could  feel  no  pain 
nor  joy. 

Except  Dennis's  den,  an  untidy  mass  of  guns,  and 
rods,  and  books,  there  was  no  room  in  the  huge  house 
where  one  could  feel  at  home.  The  vastness  of  the 
dining-room  closed  upon  one  as  a  pall.  Silence  again 
here — footsteps  drowned  in  Turkey  .carpet,  noiseless 
flitting  of  servants,  food  coming  unheard  from  behind 
a  screen.  A  tinkling  glass,  the  undue  clatter  of  knife 
and  fork  seemed  an  indiscretion.  There  were  statues 
here  also,  but  fewer;  and  dark  Rembrandts,  and  steel- 
clad  cavaliers,  and  grey  landscapes  hung  against  a 
dull  red  wall.  The  very  sunshine  peered  in  timidly, 
through  screen  of  silken  blind  and  heavy  curtains  ; 
peered  and  slipped  away  again,  glad  to  leave  the 
serving  of  warmth  to  servile  coal.  There  were  large 
dinners  at  Knock,  sent  up  by  a  chef  of  note,  the 
hostess  ablaze  with  jewels,  facing  her  son,  talking 
pleasantly,  flinging  the  ball  of  conversation  deftly 
from  guest  to  guest.  Yet  even  dry  champagne,  and 
vintage  port,  and  quails,  and  plovers'  eggs  have  never 
made  a  dinner  there  a  merry  one.  Voices  sank, 
obscured  by  the  brooding  stillness;  after  dinner  the 
men  left  good  stories  untold,  and  discussed  crops  and 


Returning  a  Call  141 

politics,  while  the  ladies  sat  about  in  the  big  drawing- 
room  and  were  chilled,  despite  the  heated  atmosphere, 
and  depressed,  despite  the  glow  of  white-shaded  electric 
lights.  There  was  no  pleasant,  irresponsive  gossip 
among  them  of  dress  or  light  flirtation,  or  the  ever- 
fruitful  topic  of  a  servant. 

If  there  was  a  reputation  to  be  discussed  and  torn 
to  shreds,  that  would  wake  Mrs.  Vereker  into  swift 
attention  ;  but  the  Ballydare  women,  living  as  they 
did  in  the  open  air,  were  more  inclined  to  find  excuses 
than  to  whisper  those  pungent  "  I  hears  "  which  have 
done  so  much  evil  in  the  world.  So,  as  they  sat  they 
talked  laboriously,  and  murmured  fervent  thanksgiving 
when  the  evening  was  over.  To  stay  was  even  more 
depressing ;  one  came  seriously  to  breakfast  along 
the  long  corridors,  slipping  past  those  rows  of  silent 
watchers  to  the  dull  stateliness  of  the  dining-room, 
and  took  to  cold  food  because  it  seemed  almost  daring 
to  eat  eggs  and  bacon  in  the  sunless  quiet. 

Mrs.  Vereker,  who  did  nothing  by  halves,  had  given 
a  description  of  the  Considine  girls,  followed  by  strict 
orders  as  to  their  non-admittance  when  they  returned 
her  call.  Two  bridge  tables  were  set,  for  the  six 
guests  had  arrived  ;  she  awaited  two  others,  and  fate 
ordained  that  as  one  of  these,  Miss  Martin,  a  snub- 
nosed,  haughty  little  maiden,  alighted,  the  roan  horse, 
snorting  proudly,  dashed  the  Considines  to  the  door. 

The  driver,  remarking  proudly  that  "  the  sthring  he 
had  the  trace  tied  with  was  dam  good,"  flew  to  the 
animal's  head,  and  Eva  and  Moira,  be-plumed  and  all 
a-rustle,  ran  up  the  steps.  Miss  Martin  was  being 
admitted.  Their  social  training  was  not  an  extensive 
one,  and  ere  the  footman  could  say  anything  they 


142  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

went  in,  telling  him  to  announce  the  Miss  Considines. 
They  had  heard  Miss  Martin  make  the  ordinary 
stereotyped  inquiry,  and  knew  Mrs.  Vereker  was  at 
home.  The  butler  to  whom  they  were  handed  on  was 
a  polite  man,  and  accepted  his  future  certain  reproof 
with  a  sigh.  The  hush  of  the  corridor  fell  on  the  two 
as  they  followed  him  ;  they  stared  at  the  line  of  white 
figures,  looked  down  at  the  thick  carpet.  There  were 
no  rich  people  at  Borrisdeane  ;  this  waft  of  heated  air, 
the  silent  servants,  was  a  new  experience.  As  Moira 
said  afterwards,  money  seemed  to  walk  with  you  and 
tweak  your  nose  as  you  went,  which  was  expressive 
if  not  elegant. 

"  How  late  you  all  are !  "  Mrs.  Vereker,  handsome 
in  deep  mauve  velvet,  diamonds  glittering  in  her 
laces,  turned  her  head  from  the  table,  then  put  her 
cards  down  and  froze  in  sudden  horror. 

"  We  thought  we  should  be  too  early  if  we  came 
any  sooner  ;  but  of  course  the  roan  horse  galloped 
a  great  deal,"  said  Moira.  "  How  d'ye  do?  " 

Mrs.  Vereker  rose  slowly.  She  held  her  hand 
out,  and  the  silence  of  the  room  was  something 
tangible. 

The  Considines  were  conscious  of  distant  scrutiny 
from  curious  and  unfriendly  eyes,  so  much  so  that 
Eva,  immediately  feeling  if  her  hat  was  straight, 
pulled  it  rakishly  over  one  ear.  Mrs.  Vereker,  sitting 
down  again,  made  no  further  remark  ;  she  did  not 
introduce  the  girls  to  any  one.  Now,  if  they  had 
been  of  the  world  they  aspired  to  know,  these  two 
would  have  apologised  for  interrupting  a  bridge 
party,  and  have  left  again  in  five  minutes,  for  a  further 
arrival  completed  the  eight  and  a  new  table  was  made 


Returning  a  Call  143 

up.  Unfortunately  they  did  not  know,  so  Moira, 
saying,  "  Please  don't  think  of  us,  we'd  love  to 
watch,"  plumped  down  upon  the  wide  arm  of  a 
brocaded  chair,  and  sat  staring  at  the  hand  of  a 
fat  and  nervous  woman,  who  came  out  meekly, 
prepared  to  lose. 

A  hand  was  dealt  and  played.  Mrs.  Vereker's 
rings  flashed  rays  into  the  shadows  as  she  drummed 
upon  the  table,  watching  her  partner  struggle  with 
a  delicate  no  trumper.  In  the  shaded  light,  with  her 
black  hair  puffed  about  her  face,  the  lace  about 
her  throat  softening  the  hard  lines,  she  looked  young 
and  very  handsome.  Moira  forgot  the  cards  as  she 
watched  her,  and  sought  still  for  the  puzzling  lost  note 
of  memory.  Why  should  she  think  she  had  seen 
Mrs.  Vereker  before?  James  Dunne's  story  rose 
before  her.  Had  the  other  man  who  had  lost  this 
brilliant  woman  broken  his  sore  heart  for  her  ?  Had 
the  diamonds,  the  cold  magnificence  of  the  house, 
repaid  the  girl  for  her  treachery  to  her  young  lover  ? 
Was  there  some  soft  spot  in  the  hard  nature  which 
throbbed  still  for  what  she  had  given  up :  strong 
arms,  warm  love,  hot  adoration  replaced  by  an  old 
man's  slavish  worship,  an  old  man's  petulant  whims  ? 
It  interested  Moira  strangely,  and  seemed  in  some 
inexplicable  way  to  touch  her  own  life,  and  be  woven 
in  the  web  of  her  fate. 

She  woke  suddenly  to  watch  the  play,  the  light  fall 
of  the  cards,  the  intent,  anxious  faces,  the  hover 
of  ringers  over  dummy  ere  they  took  a  discard  from  it. 
The  plump  lady,  a  Mrs.  Haviland,  wife  to  a  major  in 
the  regiment,  had  played  with  her  husband  and  had 
absolutely  won  a  game. 


144  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  You've  brought  me  luck,"  she  beamed  at  Moira. 
"  I've  never  held  such  cards." 

"  I  must  bring  you  more — a  hundred  aces."  Moira 
glanced  at  her  hostess's  face,  now  alight  with  active 
annoyance.  She  was  telling  her  partner  how  com- 
pletely the  loss  of  the  game  had  been  due  to  his  not 
returning  a  diamond,  and  on  his  replying  mildly  that 
he  had  not  got  one,  seemed  to  regard  this  want  as 
entirely  his  fault.  Moira's  eyes  twinkled.  She  bent 
to  see  Mrs.  Haviland's  hand,  as  that  lady  was  going 
over  and  over  and  over  it  with  bewildered  and  almost 
pained  expression.  Having  failed  to  see  one  of  her 
cards  vanish,  she  declared  no  trumps  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  triumph,  and  holding  the  prophesied  hundred 
aces  made  the  little  slam. 

"  I  am  improving,  aren't  I  ?  "  she  babbled.  "  Oh, 
Jack,  I  never  win  as  a  rule." 

Her  hostess,  sourly  adding  the  score,  made  some 
sotto  voce  remarks  which  appeared  to  relate  to  shelling 
peas. 

And  Mrs.  Haviland,  merely  catching  the  last  word, 
said  it  was  marvellous  having  any  this  time  of  year. 

Mrs.  Vereker  gulped,  caught  Moira's  twinkling 
eyes  and  lost  her  temper.  Abandoning  metaphor, 
she  became  openly  sarcastic,  and  only  wondered 
that  Mrs.  Haviland  had  failed  to  make  grand  slam 
of  it. 

"  We'll  change  chairs,  I  think,"  she  said,  as  she  cut 
an  ace  and  took  the  deal. 

"  Then,  please,  come  on  mine,  Miss  Considine. 
You're  my  mascot.  What's  that,  Mrs.  Vereker  ? 
You  hate  people  watching  ?  I  like  it." 

The  fat  lady's  luck  was  not  to  be  ousted  by  any 


Returning  a  Call  145 

change  of  chair.  She  won,  and  chuckled,  and  won 
again  :  while  Mrs.  Vereker,  who  always  hated  losing, 
grew  positively  thunderous. 

Tea,  laid  upon  a  large  table,  was  brought  in  by  an 
array  of  footmen.  There  was  no  cosiness  about  the 
meal  at  Castle  Knock.  The  glow  of  the  silver-gilt 
service,  the  display  of  iced  cakes,  the  chilliness  of  the 
fragile,  pure  white  cups  seemed  to  tone  with  the  cold, 
wide  room.  A  marble  falconer,  graceful  and  alert, 
poised  just  by  the  table,  as  though  he  waited  for  a 
meal.  Footmen  carried  cups  and  handed  the  elabo- 
rate cakes  and  golden  dishes  full  of  fresh  sweets. 
But  the  tea  loosed  no  chatter  of  bright  tongues  ;  the 
bridge  players  talked  in  the  low  tones  all  voices 
fell  to  in  this  room  ;  lights  glowed  on  the  baize 
tables  ;  but  the  vast  corners  were  full  of  shadows, 
shadows  filled  with  the  cold  gleam  of  white  marble. 
Here  a  hand  thrust  out,  caught  by  a  ray  of  light ; 
here  a  stony,  sightless  face,  sadly  beautiful.  Again 
a  whole  form,  pale  and  ghostly,  against  the  grey 
dimness.  It  would  not  have  surprised  Moira  to  see 
one  come  softly  out  and  stand  amongst  the  living. 
She  shook  the  feeling  off,  forcing  herself  to  talk. 
Eva  was  faintly  included  in  the  conversation  at  the 
other  table. 

"  Oh,  it  is  wonderful,  your  bridge,"  said  Moira. 
"  How  you  count  cards,  seem  by  some  mysterious 
rules  to  see  the  leads.  ...  I  have  only  played 
once.  The  afternoon,"  she  added  contritely,  nodding 
at  Mrs.  Vereker,  "  when  you  came  to  see  us,  and  I 
threw  the  cards  over  you." 

"  You  were  playing  exceedingly  noisily,"  said  that 
lady,  in  tones  of  ice. 

10 


146          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Oh,  so  would  you  if  Captain  Milton  called  you  a 
juggins.  You'd  have  thrown  the  pack  at  him  your- 
self." 

Major  Haviland's  complexion  appeared  to  suggest 
sudden  apoplexy,  and  he  fled  for  more  tea.  Mrs. 
Vereker's  partner,  General  Knox,  said,  "  Dearie, 
dearie  me,"  very  thoughtfully,  and  Moira,  not  catching 
her  hostess's  eye,  rattled  on  : 

"  They  went  all  over  you,  those  cards.  I  was  so 
sorry.  It  was  nearly  as  bad  as  letting  out  your  sheep. 
You  know  we  seem  fated  to  annoy  Mrs.  Vereker," 
she  said,  smiling. 

"You  .  .  .  do,  .  .  ."  said  Mrs.  Vereker  quickly. 
"  In  that,  Miss  Considine,  I  agree  with  you." 

A  sprawling  V  in  diamonds  flashed  among  the 
laces  at  her  throat ;  it  caught  Moira's  eye,  striking 
that  lost  note  of  memory.  Mrs.  Vereker,  with  the 
light  at  her  back,  looked  splendidly  handsome. 

"  1  cannot  think " — Moira  stared  hard  at  her — 
"where  I  have  seen  you — what  you  remind  me  of." 

"  I  have  never  seen  you,"  said  her  hostess  coldly. 
Yet  her  eyes  stared  back  at  Moira,  wondering  why 
the  girl's  bright  face  should  rouse  her  to  senseless, 
overwhelming  dislike. 

"  Yet  you  remind  me  of  something.  You  have 
from  the  first.  You  see,  one  would  not  forget  you," 
said  Moira,  with  simple  admiration — "  no  one  could." 

"  You  think  so  ? "  A  sudden  gleam  of  feeling 
crossed  the  cold  face.  Mrs.  Vereker  bent  over  the 
cards.  Was  she  thinking,  Moira  wondered,  of  the 
boy  she  had  sent  away?  Perhaps  she  would  send 
for  him  now,  and  ask  him  to  share  the  riches  she  had 
broken  his  life  up  for. 


Returning  a  Call  147 

"  Oh,  and  I  meant  to  ask  you.  Do  any  of  you 
remember  the  Hermit — Oliver  Tremayne,  his  name 
is?"  Mrs.  Vereker  looked  up  sharply  at  the  name 
— and  again  the  V  flashed.  "He  hunted  here 
years  and  years  ago,  and  wants  to  know  about 
every  one." 

General  Knox  shook  his  head.  "  I  remember 
Noll "  he  said,  and  then  stopped  suddenly,  look- 
ing at  his  hostess,  who  had  faded  into  unconcern. 

"  He's— oh— quite  old,"  said  Moira.  "  Tall  and 
fair,  and  very  quiet.  He  said  he  knew  Ballydare." 

"  I  knew  no  Oliver  Tremayne,"  said  old  Knox,  but 
he  spoke  slowly  and  with  thought — "  though  I  re- 
member a  fellow  of  that  description." 

"  Shall  we  play  again  ? "  The  cold  mask  was  down 
again,  and  Mrs.  Vereker's  momentary  emotion  was 
gone. 

The  butler,  advancing  noiselessly,  crossed  the  dim 
room  to  his  mistress's  side. 

"  The  Miss  Considines'  car  man  has  desired  me  to 
say  that  the  roan  horse  won't  wait  another  minute 
without  smashing  the  car,  madam,"  he  said  solemnly ; 
"  and  one  trace,  he  says,  is  only  tied  with  string." 

Moira  bounded  to  her  feet.  "Come,  Eva.  Good- 
bye, Mrs.  Vereker ;  I  have  enjoyed  myself  watching 
the  bridge,  and  we  were  so  glad  to  have  found 
you  in." 

Mrs.  Vereker's  face,  as  she  held  out  limp  fingers, 
testified  her  appreciation  of  this  kindly  remark. 

Eva  shook  hands  silently,  and  the  two  went  down 
the  length  of  the  handsome  room,  past  gleaming 
statues  into  grey  shadows,  and  out  into  the  silent 
corridor. 


148  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  The  most  impossible,  impertinent,  overdressed 
young  persons."  Mrs.  Vereker  drew  a  long  breath 
of  wrath. 

"  I "  Mrs.  Knox  came  over.    "  I  think  they  look 

nice.      Perhaps    they   are   only   young    and    foolish. 
Why  judge  so  harshly,  Violet  ?  " 

Mrs.  Vereker  did  not  know.  She  could  scarcely 
explain  it  to  herself.  Something  had  shaken  her 
from  her  cold  composure,  and  she  was  burning  with 
a  dull  heat  of  temper. 

A  trampling  of  hoofs  and  crunching  of  gravel 
revealed  the  flighty  presence  of  the  roan  at  the  door, 
a  roar  from  his  driver  and  a  further  trampling,  and 
then  a  crash — that  he  had  bolted. 

"  Oh,  driver,  driver,  don't  leave  us  here."  The  shrill 
wail  of  Eva's  voice  drove  in  through  an  open  window. 

"Wore  out  he  is  from  the  cold,"  said  James  Dunne's 
friend  as  he  returned,  "  and  the  fall  of  the  cyar  med 
jelly  of  agin  one  of  thim  sthone  images.  Be  damned 
to  thim  carved  out  things.  Tis  knocked  anyway, 
and  I  snapped  the  hand  of  it  with  the  sthep  before 
it  went  over." 

Mrs.  Vereker  stood  up  in  helpless  anger.  The 
"  image "  which  Dunne's  friend  objected  to  was  one 
of  four,  wrought  by  a  master  hand,  which  she  had 
paid  a  large  sum  for. 

The  bridge  was  broken  up.  Mrs.  Knox  moved  to 
her  husband's  side,  and  stood  at  one  of  the  windows 
with  them. 

"  That  Oliver  she  mentioned.  He  couldn't  be, 
could  he?"  She  jerked  her  head  backwards. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  old  Knox.  "  Just  what  I  wondered. 
I  remember  no  other  Oliver." 


Returning  a  Call  149 

A  subsequent  silence  was  broken  by  the  lashing  of 
a  whip,  and  many  groans  from  the  roan's  owner,  and 
further  sounds  of  breaking.  Some  four  minutes  later 
the  butler  returned. 

"  The  Miss  Considines'  horse,  madam,  is  standing 
quite  still  at  the  door,  and  the  driver  suggests  it  is 
quite  possible  that  he  may  remain  there  all  night. 
Thomas  and  Henry  are  beating  him  hard,  but  without 
avail." 

There  was  a  sudden  scurry,  a  "  Lor,  a  mussy  "  sent 
from  a  frightened  English  throat,  and  the  roan 
departed,  over  the  flower  beds,  into  the  gate,  but 
still  upon  his  homeward  road,  at  a  full  gallop. 

The  night  was  soft  and  cool,  yet  friendly  after  the 
chill  of  the  Verekers'  house.  The  shadows  of  the 
hedges  were  not  agleam  with  white  statues ;  live 
things,  donkeys,  and  goats,  fled  from  their  furious 
progress.  Dim  purple  cloudlets  shot  across  the  sky ; 
fingers  against  a  carpet  of  pallid  blue ;  the  sob  of 
coming  rain  moaned  in  the  gentle  wind. 

"  Eva,  wasn't  it  magnificent  ?  "  Moira's  busy  brain 
was  full  of  her  match. 

"  I  think  I  should  freeze  to  death  if  I  lived  there," 
said  Eva  quietly.  "  Freeze,  or  go  mad  among  those 
marble  people." 

"  One  could  alter  all  that,  if  one  lived  there,"  said 
Moira,  keeping  her  schemes  to  herself. 

There  had  been  some  callers  to-day.  Biddy  had 
what  she  called  a  deck  of  visitors'  cards  to  show,  two 
women  and  their  husbands  ;  several  of  the  Midshires  ; 
a  clergyman's  card :  they  guiltily  remembered  they 
had  not  been  to  church.  Kathleen,  enjoying  herself 
in  seclusion,  had  seen  no  one.  She  had  worn  old 


150  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

clothes,  made  cakes  with  Biddy.  "  It  was  just  like," 
said  Kathleen,  "  being  at  home  again,  with  no  fine 
clothes,  and  nothing  but  the  lake  and  the  Hermit.  Oh, 
Moira,  he's  written  to  you  ;  here's  a  letter." 

A  bulky  letter,  written  in  a  clear  firm  hand.  Moira 
opened  it  slowly.  What  had  the  Hermit  to  say  to 
her,  and  why  did  his  letter  seem  to  jar  the  chord  of 
memory  which  connected  her  with  Mrs.  Vereker  ?  She 
shook  her  head.  The  Hermit  had  a  great  deal  to  sav. 
He  had  apparently  forgotten  their  last  quarrel  at  the 
station.  How  were  they?  Why  didn't  they  write  and 
tell  him  their  news  ?  It  was  lonely  now  at  Borrisdeane, 
and  Lake  Cottage  looked  well,  but  sad.  Moira  must 
write  to  tell  him  how  they  got  on,  who  had  called, 
if  they  were  having  their  wonderful  time,  and  if  they 
ever  regretted  the  lake  and  the  hills,  and  a  foolish  old 
Hermit.  If  it  failed,  would  she  not  let  him  know  and 
let  him  help?  Who  said  there  were  no  great  events  at 
Borrisdeane  ?  Mrs.  Daly  had  gone  to  court  to  get 
paid  for  her  injuries,  standing  up  all  the  time  because 
she  said  "  sitting  was  still  an  impossibility.  Worn  out 
the  way  from  lyin'  whiniver  she'd  want  to  sit,  her  health 
break  from  it,  to  say  nuthin'  of  Tom's  health,  for 
if,  savin'  yer  presence,  my  lord,  I  turn  off  me  side 
an'  on  to  where  I  shouldn't,  in  my  slape,  I  lets  a 
schreech  that  lays  terror  on  him.  Sure  he  has  a 
thrimblin'  in  his  legs  from  narvousness,  the  craythur, 
as  the  docthor  can  certify."  Further,  that  though 
Tom's  "  thrimblin's  "  were  due  to  much  whisky,  and 
though  the  court  was  convulsed,  and  the  Judge  sent 
for  feather  pillows,  Mrs.  Daly  got  twenty  pounds  ; 
and  was  seen  half  an  hour  afterwards  driving  home 
triumphantly,  sitting  firmly  in  the  position  which 


Returning  a  Call  151 

nature  intends.  His  old  setter  was  dead,  went  on 
the  Hermit :  he  missed  her  horribly.  He  wondered 
if  Ballydare  had  changed  much— he  knew  it  of  old 
— or  if  the  people  he  had  known  were  still  there  : 
General  Knox,  Donough  Moroney,  Mr.  Willie 
O'Brien,  Mrs.  Vereker.  There  was  a  blot  on  the 
page.  .  .  .  Then  he  was,  as  ever,  Oliver  Tremayne. 

If  she  could  have  written  a  long  tale  of  realised 
success,  Moira's  answering  letter  might  have  been 
different ;  as  it  was,  realising  her  need  of  pity,  she 
resented  its  being  offered.  Her  ready  pen  scratched 
across  the  paper,  telling  a  tale  of  glory.  Ballydare 
was  lovely.  They  knew  lots  of  people,  were  learning 
bridge,  hoped  there  would  soon  be  a  dance.  The 
hunting  was  too  gloriously  lovely.  The  Star  had 
jumped  a  huge  drain  the  first  day,  and  Gog  had 
gone  faultlessly.  They  had  never  been  so  happy, 
and  indeed — indeed,  they  did  not  regret  dull  old 
Borrisdeane.  Mrs.  Vereker  ;  Moira's  sense  of  humour 
triumphed  over  her  desire  for  reserve.  The  episodes 
of  their  meetings  with  this  county  magnate  were 
set  forth  in  full  ;  "  And  don't  forget  to-day,"  said 
Eva,  as  Moira  read  her  letter  out.  "  How  we  stayed 
too  long,  and  you  suggested  Captain  Milton  calling 
her  a  juggins,  and  how  the  poor  fat  Major  nearly 
had  a  fit."  Moira  suddenly  perceiving  her  misdeeds, 
grinned  and  wrote  this  down.  She  wrote  of  the  cold 
dim  house,  of  the  marble  statues,  and  the  cold  hand- 
some woman  who  seemed  marble  herself  amongst 
them — wrote  without  dreaming  of  the  interest  with 
which  her  letter  would  be  read,  of  the  saddened  face 
which  would  bend  over  it. 

"  I  think  she  just  hates  us,  and  means  to  be  horrid," 


152          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

finished  up  Moira  ;  "  but  if  Eva  marries  her  silly  son 
it  will  be  all  right,  and  he's  quite  in  love  with  her 
now." 

Eva  had  taken  off  her  plumed  hat  and  was  shaking 
the  feathers  thoughtfully.  Somehow,  she  said,  she 
did  not  think  these  hats  were  quite  what  one  wanted 
here.  "  I  felt  to-day  as  I'd  got  a  ball  dress  on  to 
come  to  tea  in,"  said  Eva  disconsolately.  "There's 
no  doubt  about  it,  Moira,  we  are  too  fine." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  TRIP  TO  THE  SEA 

r  I  ^HE  horses  languished,  unfit  to  hunt,  in  their 
1  stables,  but  life — if  life  spelt  laughter  and 
romping  and  the  constant  calling  of  the  Midshire 
regiment — descended  upon  The  Beeches. 

If  the  motors  and  carriages  of  the  county  did  not 
wait  at  the  gate,  the  little  drawing-room  was  always 
full. 

There  was  bridge,  acquired  quickly  enough  to  play 
for  money  and  lose ;  there  was  diabolo  to  romp  with 
outside  ;  there  were  teas  to  be  provided  daily,  so  much 
so  that  old  Biddy,  groaning,  had  to  ask  for  help. 
One  servant  could  not  cope  with  the  answering  of 
doors  and  making  of  cakes.  A  maiden  named  Mary 
Kate,  whose  puffed  hair  and  fly-away  caps  made 
Biddy  sniff  with  horror,  now  ushered  in  guests  in 
correctest  fashion,  and  witched  Patsy's  heart  until 
he  almost  neglected  his  horses. 

And  money,  as  money  will,  melted.  Eva's  gentle 
eyes  pored  over  her  account-book  until  she  shut  it 
with  a  snap  of  despair,  and  wrote  cheques  with  a 
dogged  recklessness.  Tea  alone  did  not  suffice 
for  bridge — one  must  have  whisky-and-soda,  and 
cigarettes  for  men  to  smoke,  until  the  square  little 


154  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

room  was  a  blue  haze — and  then  tea  was  not  enough 
when  the  officers'  wives,  who  were  friendly,  asked  the 
girls  to  dine  or  supper  :  they  felt  they  must  ask  in 
return.  The  bridge  craze  grew  upon  them,  or  at 
least  upon  Moira  and  Eva — Kathleen  was  too 
wrapped  up  in  Jim  Crow  to  think  of  anything  else — 
so  that  they  sat  up  until  one  in  the  morning  poring 
over  declarations  and  play,  spoiling  their  freshness 
by  late  hours,  and  learning  to  smoke  themselves, 
though  they  failed  to  like  it.  Captain  Milton  was 
a  man  who  found  a  home  at  each  station  that  he 
went  to :  the  Considines  supplied  the  want  at  Bally- 
dare.  He  could  do  as  he  chose  there — the  familiarity 
accepted  as  smartness — and  drink  whisky-and-soda 
instead  of  tea  without  reproof.  Mr.  Cromartin,  a  boy 
with  a  bald  forehead  and  a  noisy  manner,  and  one  or 
two  others,  found  The  Beeches  equally  comfortable. 
One  could  stay  on  to  dine  without  the  bother  of 
changing,  and  be  sure  of  something  simple  cooked 
by  Biddy's  cunning  old  hands.  Beech  Cottage  echoed 
to  noisy,  foolish  laughter,  echoes  which  slipped  away 
beyond  the  boundary  wall  and  did  the  newcomers 
little  good.  One  or  two  people,  too,  who  came  to  call, 
broke  in  upon  a  room  hazy  with  smoke,  littered 
with  cards,  with  long  tumblers  standing  where  tea- 
cups ought  to  have  been,  and  the  overdressed  foolish 
girls  believing  it  was  all  smartness,  and  as  it 
should  be. 

They  were  taken  out  in  the  Havilands'  motor 
sometimes,  learning  the  joys  of  flying  fast  along  the 
quiet  roads,  as  the  car  ate  the  miles  before  it. 

Oh,  it  was  life ;  and  yet,  when  the  noisy  days  were 
over,  and  aching  heads  ceased  thinking  of  money  lost 


A  Trip  to  the  Sea  155 

by  stupid  mistakes,  there  was  an  inner  voice  which 
said  to  Moira  there  was  something  wanting  :  some- 
thing, part  of  quiet  Borrisdeane,  which  was  better 
than  all  the  feverish  gaiety  they  lived  through  here. 
The  people  who  did  not  come,  the  simpler  people, 
who  were  not  smart,  were  the  friends  they  had 
been  accustomed  to.  To  be  good  form,  perhaps, 
was  not  everything.  Dennis  Vereker,  who  came  to 
see  them  more  than  once,  was  strangely  quiet  during 
the  shouts  of  chaff  and  laughter.  He  used  to  talk 
to  Eva  when  bridge  ceased  with  an  abstracted  look 
upon  his  red  face,  as  if  he  wanted  to  say  something 
and  was  afraid  to,  as  if  he  knew  that  free-and-easy 
manners  and  the  noise  which  to  some  natures 
passes  for  happiness  was  not  meet  for  gentle  Eva 
Considine. 

Before  hunting  was  possible,  a  spell  of  the  sunshine 
which  late  October  gives  us  sometimes  brightened 
the  world — white  misty  nights  and  glorious  sun-lit 
days.  With  blue  sheen  overhead,  turning  all  the 
leaves  aglow,  as  though  they  were  loth  to  leave,  and 
the  silver  glint  of  spider-threads  from  every  stem  and 
flower.  So  warm,  one  could  sit  out  as  if  it  were 
summer.  Late  roses  opened  buds  the  cold  kiss  had 
chilled,  polyanthuses  poked  up  shy,  stunted  blooms ; 
the  old  tobaccos  and  wallflowers  in  the  tangled  flower 
beds  bloomed  freely. 

Moira,  as  she  went  about  the  neglected  garden  or 
walked  upon  the  muddy  roads,  regretted  the  sea  at 
Borrisdeane.  How  clean  and  cold  and  blue  it  would 
be  now,  creaming  in  upon  the  shingle !  What  scrambles 
there  had  been  in  late  October  across  the  rocks  and 
on  the  dry  cliff  path,  with  the  Hermit's  long  legs 


156          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

setting  the  pace ;  then  back  to  tea  with  him  at 
Borrisdeane  House,  chattering  and  squabbling,  or 
slipping  on  to  the  rare  moments  when,  talking 
quietly,  Moira  seemed  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  an 
unknown  world. 

She  yearned  for  the  lost  coast,  and  Captain  Milton 
suddenly  put  forward  a  bright  idea. 

There  was  sea — a  little  place  called  Kildore — 
within  forty  miles  of  Ballydare. 

"  We'll  get  the  Havilands  to  come  along  in  their 
motor,  and  Cromartin  to  fetch  along  his,  and  we'll 
run  down  to  spend  Sunday  there,"  said  Milton. 
"  It'll  be  rippin'  fun.  There's  a  hotel,  homely,  but 
quite  comfortable,  and  we'll  take  our  guns  ;  the  place 
is  alive  with  duck  and  snipe.  We'll  have  a  stroll  by 
the  shore,  too,  you  and  I,"  added  Milton,  with  fatuous 
tenderness  and  a  glance  of  undisguised  admiration 
for  Moira,  as  she  stood  bare-headed  in  the  clear 
autumn  light. 

Fat  Mrs.  Haviland  was  swept  away  upon  a  flood- 
tide  of  persuasion  ;  her  dubious  views  concerning  the 
comfort  of  the  seaside  hotel  were  quite  reassured  by 
Captain  Milton's  statement  that  he  knew  a  chap  who 
knew  another  chap  who  had  stayed  there  regularly 
for  shooting,  and  who  affirmed  it  to  be  a  nest  of 
homely  comfort. 

So,  having  made  up  the  party,  they  started  on  a 
glowing  morning  to  run  through  a  lonely,  hilly 
country  down  eastwards  towards  the  coast,  and  then 
by  the  Dare,  where  it  broadened  to  a  mighty  stream 
carrying  great  ships  upon  its  back,  with  muddy 
banks  glistening  to  pearl  and  silver  in  the  sun- 
shine, until  they  crossed  it  by  a  great  bridge  at 


A  Trip  to  the  Sea  157 

Glendalough,  a  dirty,  busy  town,  and  took  the  road 
to  Kildore. 

Their  drive  was  not  fated  to  be  without  incident. 
The  untimely  slaying  of  a  hen,  and  the  subsequent  argu- 
ment as  to  its  value,  caused  the  first  delay  ;  a  puncture 
to  Major  Haviland's  car  the  next ;  the  third  and 
longest  due  to  Mr.  Cromartin's,  an  apparent  breakage 
of  machinery  which  occasioned  muddy  investigation 
to  unseen  parts,  the  emerging  of  grunting  and  dis- 
satisfied men,  and  the  final  discovery  that  Cromartin, 
who  was  inexperienced,  had  merely  forgotten  to  turn 
on  the  oil  tap.  They  had  intended  to  reach  Kildore 
for  lunch  and  spend  the  afternoon  by  the  sea,  but 
it  was  late  afternoon,  and  they  were  exceedingly 
hungry,  as  they  passed  through  the  busy  shipping 
town. 

For  a  time  they  could  see  the  Dare,  broadening 
to  a  great  sheet  of  water ;  brown  sea-weed  fringing 
its  mud-banks  now,  jutting  rocks  poking  up  dark 
noses,  rough  sides  playing  at  looking  like  cliffs ; 
then  it  was  hidden  from  them,  not  to  be  seen 
again  until  it  was  a  river  no  longer,  but  salt  as 
the  waters  it  met,  heaving,  between  great  cliffs  at 
Kildore. 

Their  road  rose  steeply,  testing  the  motors'  hill 
climbing,  then  dipped  more  steeply  still,  down  a 
stony  road  to  the  sea.  High  banks  covered  with 
golden-hued,  dying  osmundi,  bordered  the  way  ; 
fuchsias  still  flaunted  a  few  gaudy  heads,  poking 
scarlet  tassels  out  among  a  tangle  of  brambles 
The  sky  was  barred  with  long  masses  of  amber- 
tinted  clouds  ;  the  horizon  was  a  lake  of  smooth  grey, 
dotted  with  little  islands  of  a  deeper  shade.  Hills, 


i58          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

ragged-topped,  their  sides  fluffy  with  gorse,  rimmed  the 
harbour  about.  As  they  drove  down  slowly,  the 
waters  changed  colour ;  flushed  to  amber,  dulled  to 
green  ;  then  suddenly  lay  grey  and  still  beneath  a 
cold  sky  as  the  glow  faded  from  the  west. 

It  was  a  peaceful  little  spot,  houses  clinging  to  the 
base  of  the  hills  just  where  they  fell  away  in  sharp 
cliffs  to  the  calm  sea.  A  few  fishing  boats  and  a 
couple  of  small  yachts  rocked  softly  to  the  gentle 
swell.  It  seemed  rest  impersonified,  a  spot  almost 
offended  by  the  motors,  as,  with  their  trail  of  petrol 
smell,  they  hooted  children  and  hens  from  their 
path. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Haviland,  "  that  everything  is 
ready.  I  trust,  Captain  Milton,  that  you  ordered 
everything  in  your  letter."  Milton  assumed  the 
worried  look  which  denotes  guilt,  and  his  reply  was 
confused  ;  it  seemed  inhuman  then  to  confess  that  he 
had  quite  forgotten  to  write. 

"  They'll  sure  to  have  everything,"  he  said  dubiously. 
"  Here  we  are." 

The  hotel  was  of  imposing  frontage — two-storied, 
amid  the  cluster  of  cottages,  and  with  garden 
seats  on  either  side  of  the  door.  Two  girls  of 
attractive  appearance  were  flirting  at  the  door  of 
the  bar,  and  a  slatternly  elderly  woman  banging 
some  dough  in  her  hands  strayed  out  as  they 
pulled  up. 

Their  demands  seemed  to  distress  her  greatly  :  she 
put  the  dough  on  a  garden  seat,  and  then  in  her 
distress  sat  upon  it. 

"  Tea  she  could  give,  and  rooms  ;  yes,  there  were 
rooms,  but  so  large  a  party  !  " 


A  Trip  to  the  Sea  159 

Mrs.  Haviland  turned  sternly  upon  Milton,  "  The 
truth  of  the  matter  is,  you  never  wrote  at  all,"  she 
said  angrily. 

Captain  Milton's  explanation  of  his  servant  having 
forgotten  to  post  the  letter  was  received  with  cold 
disbelief. 

The  attractive  young  women  were  with  difficulty 
induced  to  come  to  their  mother's  aid.  The  cars, 
one  now  badly  in  need  of  repair,  were  housed  in  a 
shed,  and  they  went  in.  A  dive  into  the  gloomy 
passage  revealed  the  fact  that,  as  a  rotten  boat  fresh 
painted,  all  that  was  best  was  outside. 

The  sitting-room  they  were  ushered  into  was 
furnished  with  fossilised  chairs  and  a  musty  smell. 

One  opened  the  door  to  let  that  out  and  a  reek  of 
porter  and  bad  whisky  drove  in  with  the  solidity  of 
a  blow,  wrestled  with  the  odour  of  damp,  and,  finding 
it  too  strong  to  beat,  took  its  hand  and  plunged 
united  down  unwilling  nostrils.  A  fire,  which  smoked, 
dispelled  some  of  the  mouldiness,  and  hot  tea  brought 
comfort ;  but  Captain  Milton,  who  had  described  the 
"  Kildore  Arms  "  as  a  nest  of  humble  comfort,  looked 
uneasy.  The  motors  had  come  slowly,  and  it  was  too 
late  and  cold  now  to  take  the  walk  by  the  sea  which 
they  had  agreed  upon,  and  which  had  sounded  so 
tempting  as  they  discussed  it  in  the  morning  sunlight. 
Mrs.  Haviland,  having  adjusted  her  plump  person  in 
the  least  abominable  chair,  said  it  was  curiously 
uncomfortable. 

Cromartin,  who  had  been  to  examine  his  bedroom, 
made  gloomy  remarks  concerning  Keating's  powder  ; 
while  his  terrier,  which  had  accompanied  him,  scratched 
itself  furiously  in  corroboration. 


160  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  It's  not  even  like  the  sea."  Moira  peered  at  the 
quiet  waters,  lapping  softly  against  the  steep  of 
the  rocks  ;  the  tide  was  in.  "  You  should  see 
our  coast  at  Borrisdeane,  with  the  breakers  roaring 
up  over  the  shingle,  and  the  great  waves  upon 
the  cliffs."  She  sat  upon  a  hard  chair  and 
scraped  the  butter  from  her  toast  with  a  soured 
expression. 

Milton,  who  had  counted  upon  a  party  of  gaiety 
and  flirtation,  stroked  his  moustache  sulkily.  "  We'll 
have  a  jolly  day  to-morrow,"  he  declared,  whipping 
himself  to  enthusiasm.  "  A  sail  if  any  one  likes  it  ; 
bags  of  game." 

Cromartin,  lifting  up  his  dog,  remarked  unkindly 
that  even  the  night  would  not  be  devoid  of  killing. 
"  The  dog's  black  with  them,"  he  said  indignantly, 
and  whirled  forth  into  the  evening  to  look  for  a 
chemist. 

Mrs.  Haviland  squeaked,  and  nothing  but  the 
indisposition  of  one  of  the  motors  prevented  her 
starting  homewards.  She  had,  she  said  pathetically, 
a  tender  skin.  A  suggestion  of  bridge  met  with 
immediate  favour,  until  Milton,  after  a  feverish 
search  through  his  things,  found  he  had  forgotten 
the  cards.  The  party  looked  at  each  other  through 
the  smoke  and  felt  they  would  like  to  say  what 
they  wanted  to. 

The  maid-of-all-work,  Mary  Maria,  a  high-cheeked, 
raw-boned  young  woman  with  engrimed  hands 
and  several  holes  in  her  bodice,  put  her  wits  to 
work. 

There  was  surely  a  pack  in  the  bar,  though  it 
might  be  a  bit  tossed,  and  she'd  send  up  to  Father 


A  Trip  to  the  Sea  161 

Clancy's,  for  it  so  happened  that  she  knew  he  played 
spoil  five.  They  might  get  one  from  him. 

Mary  Maria  returned  proudly,  bearing  the  cards 
from  below,  bethumbed,  porter  tainted  ;  almost  inde- 
cipherable horrors,  which  left  a  trail  upon  the  fingers 
that — as  Cromartin,  who  had  returned  gloomily  with- 
out any  Keating,  said — you  could  run  a  drag  on. 
The  priest's,  coming  later,  had  a  merely  cleanly 
whiff  of  whisky  and  tobacco,  and  were  gladly  played 
with. 

But  to  be  happy  at  the  Kildore  Hotel  required 
iron  resolution.  Dinner,  which  was  partaken  of  at  a 
long  and  dirty  table,  consisted  of  an  over-kept  and 
straggling  chicken,  and  a  roast  leg  of  athletic  mutton. 
It  was  flung  at  you  by  Mary  Maria,  with  under-boiled 
potatoes  on  a  plate  and  tinned  peas  in  a  sauce  boat 
The  plates  were  not  innocent  of  their  last  visit  to  the 
same  table  ;  there  were  hideous  suspicions  that  some 
one  had  eaten  eggs  for  breakfast,  or  rice-pudding  for 
lunch. 

One  other  guest,  a  red-faced  commercial  traveller, 
shared  the  meal — a  man  with  a  blunt  nose  and  one 
of  those  moustaches  which  lead  you  to  believe 
that  a  man  has  got  hold  of  a  hayfork  above  his 
mouth. 

Altogether  it  was  a  dreary  evening,  enlivened 
as  far  as  it  could  be  by  whisky-tainted  cards 
and  the  happy  prophecies  of  Milton  as  to  all  the 
snipe  he  would  shoot  upon  the  morrow.  From 
his  account  it  seemed  well  that  he  did  not  shoot 
often,  or  the  birds  would  suffer  extermination  at 
his  hands.  Haviland,  who  eyed  him  mildly,  said 
little,  only  once  remarking  sadly  that  he  wished  he 

II 


1 62  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

could  manage  to  bring  down  three  with  a  right  and 
left,  and  still  have  another  to  kill  a  stray  bird  that 
flew  over. 

"  It  was  fine  shooting,"  said  Major  Haviland 
thoughtfully.  "  You  were  a  bit  off  that  time,  Milton, 
when  we  shot  Cromfort  last  year." 

Milton  said  he  had  a  beastly  £un  that  day,  and 
also  a  sprained  wrist,  and  Haviland  nodded  as  if 
satisfied. 

"  He  never  goes  to  a  shoot,"  he  said — "  to  give  all  us 
duffers  a  chance,  I  suppose.  That  was  the  only  day 
you  went  last  year,  Milton." 

Cromartin  remarked  that  Milton  shot  best  when  he 
shot  alone,  and  Milton  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
with  open  suspicion,  quelled  by  their  guileless  faces  ; 
and  Moira,  who  could  aim  straight  herself,  clasped 
her  hands  with  enthusiasm.  Even  the  Hermit,  whose 
brilliant  shooting  was  the  admiration  of  Borrisdeane, 
missed  occasionally. 

With  bated  breath  she  asked  if  Captain  Milton 
had  ever  done  so.  Milton,  with  the  tail  of  his 
eye  upon  Major  Haviland's  face,  said  "  of  course 
he  had.  Once  when  he  had  fired  from  a  dog- 
cart, going  fast,  he  had  only  winged  his  bird,  and 
again " 

But  here  Major  Haviland  upset  the  coal  bucket, 
saying,  "  For  God's  sake  let's  go  to  bed,"  and  the  tale 
of  the  second  miss  remained  untold. 

It  was  a  lively  night,  with  no  lack  of  tiny  guests  in 
the  uncleanly  beds.  Mary  Maria,  taxed  with  the 
fact  in  the  morning,  said  it  must  be  the  Brothers' 
school  that  was  there  last  week,  for  up  to  that  she 
never  saw  but  three.  It  would  appear  she  had  counted 


A  Trip  to  the  Sea  163 

them  carefully.  Eva  and  Moira  woke  unrefreshed,  to 
clamour  for  baths,  and  be  informed  that  there  were 
but  two  in  the  house — one  already  adopted  by  the 
Havilands,  with  reversion  to  Mr.  Cromartin  ;  the 
other,  now  in  the  room  of  Captain  Milton,  just  across 
the  passage.  The  soft  sea-air  poured  through  the 
open  windows,  the  lap  of  the  waters  awoke  memories 
of  Borrisdeane,  the  two  yearned  to  be  up  and  out  in 
the  now  brilliant  sunlight.  Mary  Maria,  summoned 
again  and  again,  bore  inquiry  patiently,  but  was 
apparently  too  shy  to  hurry  Milton  over  his  dressing. 
"James,  the  boots,  is  away  to  Mass,"  she  said,  "  an' 
sure  I  couldn't  be  inthrudin'  on  the  gentleman.  But 
in  a  minnit,  miss,  in  a  minnit."  The  morning  called 
invitingly,  and  Mary  Maria  came  not  ;  further  peals 
on  the  bell  were  unanswered,  so  that  Moira,  her 
pretty  hair  all  tumbled,  went  to  the  door  to  call. 
"For  I'm  sure  I  heard  her  coming  up,"  she  said 
to  Eva.  "Poor  thing;  I  think  I'll  have  to  tell 
him  to  hurry  myself  as  she's  too  shy,  perhaps,  to 
knock." 

Moira  had  undoubtedly  heard  Mary  Maria  come 
up — in  fact,  on  opening  the  door  she  saw  that  timid 
damsel  upon  her  knees,  her  eye  fast  glued  to  the 
keyhole  of  the  opposite  door.  A  huge  pail  of  hot 
water  steamed  by  her  side. 

She  turned  unabashed  and  smiling,  raising  her 
hand  for  silence,  and  affixed  her  eye  afresh  ere  she 
answered.  "  I'll  have  the  bath  for  ye  in  no  time 
now,"  she  whispered  joyously.  "  In  a  minnit — one 
minnit,  the  captain  is  jusht  stheppin'  out  of  it !  " 

The  sudden  yell  of  Moira's  laughter  made  her  step 
to  her  feet  with  a  surprised  expression. 


164          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Wasn't  I  watching  for  ye  for  tin  minnits  before 
I  could  tell  him  to  put  it  out  to  me?"  said 
Mary  Maria  proudly,  as  she  entered  with  a  flat  and 
rusty  bath.  "  I  hadn't  the  face,  d'ye  see,  to  hurry 
him." 

Captain  Milton,  arriving  at  breakfast  in  Harris 
tweeds  of  startling  hues,  was  anxious  to  know  what 
amused  them,  and  was  surprised  by  a  further  burst  of 
apparently  foolish  merriment ;  for  Moira  had  told 
Mrs.  Haviland,  and  she,  being  a  good  wife,  had  told 
her  husband. 

Mary  Maria,  ignorant  of  having  helped  to  amuse, 
gave  them  a  bad  breakfast  pleasantly. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning ;  the  sea  shone  in 
the  sunlight,  dimpled  and  sparkled  as  a  woman 
before  her  lover,  till  its  surface  was  a  glitter  of 
light.  Kildore  is  really  a  lovely  little  spot,  worth 
visiting  if  some  better  landlady  took  the  hotel. 
To  the  east  a  long  low  range  of  hills  run  out 
until  their  low  points  nose  into  the  water.  There, 
at  the  point,  the  great  tradesman  Time  had  used 
his  hatchet,  cutting  a  slice  from  the  land's  end,  so 
that  the  waters  passed  through  leaving  a  tiny  rocky 
island.  The  cliffs  about  the  bay  are  wreathed 
with  trailing  ivy,  crowned  by  gorse,  and,  in  summer, 
grey  with  sea-pinks  and  the  gold  of  the  gorse 
blossoms ;  the  brown  weed  on  the  slabs  of  bared 
rock  hung  limply,  threshing  the  water  as  it  rippled 
up  to  them. 

As  they  sat  out  on  the  low  wall  the  people  went 
by.  Mary  Maria,  a  shawl  about  her  frowzy  hair, 
drove  off  to  Leap,  a  smile  on  her  red  face.  One 
forgot  the  discomfort  of  the  hotel  as  the  soft  voices 


A  Trip^to  the  Sea  165 

of  the  country  people  whined  in  tune  to  the  peace  of 
the  day,  and  one  looked  across  the  quiet  waters  to  the 
far  shore. 

Moira  strayed  away  along  the  cliffs,  looking  down 
at  the  narrow  reaches  of  pebble  bared  by  the  fallen 
tide.  There  were  no  bays  or  golden  sand  here,  no 
long  shore  with  its  fringe  of  tumbling,  crested  waves ; 
the  waters  ran  deep  into  shore,  cold  and  still,  with 
just  a  heave  in  their  green-hued  depths. 

"  Charming,  isn't  it  ?  "  Milton  had  followed  Moira. 
There  was  no  real  love  of  the  peaceful  beauty  in  his 
voice  ;  his  manner,  in  fact,  suggested  that  it  was  only 
pretty  because  he  had  suggested  coming  there,  and 
he  was  therefore  disposed  to  take  credit  for  each  hue 
of  land  and  water. 

"  It  is  lovely,"  said  Moira  quietly.  "  A  tame  sea, 
chained  and  gentle,  but  very  pretty  to  look  at.  You 
should  see  our  shore,  all  froth  and  breakers  and 

tumble.  See "  she  stopped  abruptly  ;  to  speak 

of  Borrisdeane  reminded  her  of  the  Hermit.  He 
would  have  known  how  to  admire  this  quiet  little 
place. 

Milton  pointed  out  the  way  they  would  drive  to 
the  snipe  marshes ;  and  Moira,  forgetting  him  and 
blushing  softly,  dreamt  of  the  sea  beneath  her. 
Milton  did  not  miss  the  blush  ;  he  appreciated  it 
thoroughly.  So  pretty  a  girl,  ripping  good  fun ; 
a  jolly  house  to  spend  one's  time  at  ;  but  Lancelot 
Milton  assessed  his  matrimonial  value  highly.  When 
he  parted  with  liberty  it  must  be  in  return  for  a  large 
yearly  income.  Pretty  faces  paid  no  household  bills. 
Then,  observing  that  Moira  was  inattentive,  he 
remonstrated  in  hurt  tones. 


1 66  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"The  sea  makes  one  think."  She  flung  some 
pebbles  into  the  still  depths.  "  It  makes  me  wonder 
if  I  shall  ever  see  Borrisdeane  again,  or  if,  when  I  do 
see  it,  I  shall  ever  leave  it." 

"  You  mean  to  go  back,  then  ?  "  Milton  asked. 

"  Oh  yes.  We  always  meant  to ;  but  then  we 
hoped  the  horses  would  have  been  a  greater  success. 
Of  course,  they  may  be  still.  I'm  afraid  I  want  to 
see  the  world." 

"  But  you  are  sure  to,"  said  Milton.  "  You'll 
marry." 

"  Eva  will.  Then  Kathleen  and  I  will  be  alone — 
and  very  poor." 

Moira  was  wrapped  in  a  cloud  of  reflection,  but 
Milton's  tone,  as  he  suggested  returning  to  the  village, 
was  remote  and  nervous.  He  did  not  like  the  trend 
of  the  conversation. 

Dispassionately,  and  with  a  curious  face,  she  stared 
at  Milton,  his  smart  tweeds,  with  his  thin,  sleek  hair, 
his  fat  and  self-satisfied  face.  Was  this  attention 
which  he  paid  her  what  was  called  love  ?  If  he  asked 
her,  could  she  do  anything  but  say  yes?  A  fine 
shot,  a  good  rider  :  the  Hermit  could  not  laugh  at 
her  then. 

"  Come  along,"  she  said,  blushing  hotly  now. 

There  was  business  on  foot  when  they  got  back. 
Marshes  and  treacherous  bogs  spread  about  a  lake 
beyond  the  hills.  Martin  Cronin,  the  landlady's  son, 
was  to  guide  them  to  the  home  of  snipe  and  duck. 
He  was  ready  now,  and  observed,  as  he  scanned 
Milton's  suit,  that  "  'twould  be  better  to  darken  that 
gintieman  with  a  taste  of  mud  before  they  loosed 
him  out." 


A  Trip  to  the  Sea  167 

Moira  followed  on  a  car,  to  see  the  country  and 
the  bog.  Now,  there  are  a  great  many  snipe  and 
some  duck  about  the  brown-hued  Loch  Granagh, 

O      * 

and  there  were  distinctly  fewer  when  two  of  the  men 
had  splashed  and  squelched  and  wriggled  through 
breast-high  yellowing  reed  in  and  out  of  bog  and 
drains,  their  eyes  ready  for  the  birds  which  flashed 
from  covert. 

The  third  man,  as  Moira  came  up,  was  standing 
alone  behind  a  rock,  fidgeting  with  the  lock  of 
his  gun. 

"  The  hanged  thing  is  out  of  order,"  he  burst  out 
"  The  barrel's  bent,  and  the  trigger  action  is  all 
hampered.  I  tried  a  couple  of  shots  once  and  missed, 
so  I  came  out  to  see  if  I  could  do  anything.  It's 
beastly  cold." 

Moira  crouched  behind  the  rock,  and  took 
the  gun  from  him.  She  slid  and  examined. 
She  could  see  nothing  wrong ;  the  swish,  swish 
of  the  reeds  told  the  others  were  working 
close.  Milton's  cartridge  case  was  by  his  side, 
and  he  was  lighting  a  pipe.  She  slipped  two 
cartridges  in  and  peered  round  the  rock,  smiling 
as  she  did  so.  A  little  brown  body  winged 
swiftly  past,  Moira  fired,  and  the  snipe's  life  was 
over. 

"  May  the  devil  roast  me  if  he  hasn't  one  hit," 
cried  the  voice  of  Martin  Cronin,  from  an  ambush  of 
reeds.  Martin's  brown  dog,  whose  great-grandfather 
might  have  been  a  retriever,  came  slipping  out, 
fetching  the  snipe  tenderly. 

Milton's  face  grew  pink  with  wrath ;  he  snatched 
the  gun  back  with  ill-humour. 


1 68  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  You  might  have  hurt  yourself  horribly,"  he 
said. 

Moira  looked  at  him,  she  looked  at  Martin 
Cassidy,  at  the  two  drenched,  muddy  men  who 
had  finished  their  shoot,  and  she  said  nothing. 
Her  faith  in  this  paragon  was  somehow  waning 
dim. 

"He  to  miss  two  on  to  his  barrel,  and  hit 
that  one,"  said  the  voice  of  Martin,  cruelly 
clear  now. 

Major  Haviland,  laden  with  little  dead  feathered 
things,  said  he  thought  they  would  go  home.  His 
expression,  as  he  looked  at  his  captain,  was  not 
thoughtful,  because  he  had  known  beforehand.  It 
was,  in  fact,  crystally  transparent. 

"  That  was  a  nice  shot  of  yours,  Miss  Considine," 
he  said  quietly — he  had  seen  her  fire — "especially 
with  a  broken  gun." 

"  I  mended  it,"  said  Milton  haughtily,  "  as  I  waited 
here." 

Major  Haviland  said  something  to  himself  about 
its  being  a  good  thing  to  be  a  locksmith  if  one 
wasn't  a  shot,  and  wound  up  his  car.  There  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said.  They  did  not  stay  a 
second  night  at  Kildore,  but  left  it  in  the  grey 
dusk.  The  harbour  lay  very  still,  a  single  light 
starring  the  gloom  of  the  bay.  Velvet  in  the  dusk, 
the  hills  stole  to  the  water's  edge,  peace  reigned 
upon  the  little  place,  and  as  they  raced  away  be- 
tween the  steep  banks,  they  knew  they  would  like 
to  return. 

It  was  Mr.  Cromartin  who  suggested  in  his  gentle 
way  that  they  should  all  return,  and  Milton,  as 


A  Trip  to  the  Sea  169 

the  keenest  sportsman,  sleep  there  for  another 
night. 

"And  why?"  said  that  gentleman,  plainly 
aggrieved. 

"  Because  you'd  be  sure  of  a  bag,"  said  Cromartin, 
pulling  a  lever  sharply. 


CHAPTER  X 

CLENNELFORD 

\ 

WHEN  Gog's  legs  returned  to  their  normal 
appearance  of  badly  turned  bedposts,  and 
The  Star  was  induced  to  pick  delicately  at  some 
oats,  there  were  hopes  of  another  hunt.  The  meet 
was  at  Clennelford,  some  eight  miles  away,  in  a 
hilly,  stone-wall  country.  It  was  a  long  way  to 
ride  out,  so  the  temptations  of  James  Dunne,  who 
again  suggested  their  hiring  the  roan  horse,  were 
irresistible. 

Patsy,  "hopin'  to  God  Almighty  he  wouldn't  be 
kilt,"  went  forth  on  Gog,  with  The  Star  kicking 
wildly  at  one  side  and  Jim  Crow,  jogging  like  an 
angel,  at  the  other. 

The  roan  horse  stopped  for  five  minutes  at  the 
door,  and  then  fled  at  so  merry  a  pace  before  the 
whip  that  they  speedily  overtook  Patsy,  pulled  up 
and  looking  as  if  the  world  was  too  much  for 
him,  while  Captain  Milton,  standing  on  the  road 
beside  his  horse,  groaned  as  he  nursed  an  injured 
knee. 

"  She  struck  me  fair  as  I  rode  past,  the brute," 

he  explained. 

"  Faix,  turned  round  an'  got  the  back  of  her 
170 


Clennelford  171 

eye  on  him,  that  she  might  sthrike  him  fair," 
said  Patsy  sourly.  "An"  I  bawlin'  to  him  to 
wait  till  I'd  cross  the  road  an'  push  her  agin 
the  bank.  The  divil  is  in  that  one's  heart,  Miss 
Moira." 

Captain  Milton  remarked  with  asperity  he  thought 
the  gentleman  mentioned  was  in  her  heels ;  and 
as  a  fellow-soldier,  who  offered  to  lead  his  horse, 
came  past,  he  accepted  a  proffered  seat  on  the 
car. 

The  roan  horse  started  without  protest,  but  pro- 
ceeded in  an  uneasy,  bumping  manner,  holding  him- 
self in  readiness  to  upset  them  when  he  could.  He 
might  have  forgotten  his  intention  had  not  a  passing 
motor,  as  they  neared  the  meet,  supplied  the  oppor- 
tunity. The  roan  then  bolted  with  a  snort,  tearing 
past  traps  and  led  horses,  while  the  girls,  unsoothed 
by  the  remark  of  Dunne's  friend  "  that  the  horse  'ud 
sthop  whin  he  was  tired,"  shrieked  aloud.  It  was 
in  truth  a  passage  perilous,  as  they  whirled  down 
Clennelford  village  at  a  fiery  gallop,  with  the  cart 
pitching  like  a  small  steamer.  They  sped  with  a 
clang  of  catching  metal  past  a  motor-car,  grazed 
a  dogcart,  and  all  but  upset  a  donkey  trap.  Moira's 
feet  were  swung  high  in  terror  ;  she  scrambled  for 
the  well,  shrieking,  while  Captain  Milton,  whose 
manhood  required  that  he  should  not  show  his 
fear,  held  her  tightly  round  the  waist  and  shouted 
encouragement. 

It  was  not  a  dignified  arrival,  and,  as  the  roan 
horse  stopped  suddenly,  the  onlookers'  faces  might 
have  told  the  Considines  it  had  not  furthered  them 
in  the  eyes  of  the  county.  Moira's  hat  was  off ;  she 


172  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

still  clung  to  Captain  Milton,  who,  on  his  part,  still 
embraced  her  warmly. 

"  The  schamer  !  "  said  Dunne's  friend.  "  But  it 
might  be  worse.  Except  the  bit  he  tore  from  the 
mothor  beyant  " — he  looked  back  pleasantly — "  he 
has  no  harm  done." 

It  was  of  course  the  Verekers'  car.  Before  they 
looked  they  knew  they  would  see  Mrs.  Vereker's 
stony  eyes  gaze  at  the  long  seam  in  her  car's 
body. 

"  It's  fate,"  said  Eva  weakly,  as  she  got  down. 

The  Master's  sad  little  face  grew  gloomier  as  he 
observed  Moira  being  hoisted  on  to  The  Star. 

"  That  grey  mare  has  a  leg  as  long  as  a  Jew 
creditor's  memory,"  he  said  uneasily. 

The  other  Ballydare  people  looked  at  the  noisy 
group  and  shook  their  heads  ;  they  did  not  want 
this  kind  of  thing.  These  three  girls  were  far  toe 
good  to  look  at  to  come  swooping  into  a  county 
where  maidens  were  many  and  men  were  few.  Dennis 
Vereker  had  been  seen  already  to  pay  Eva  attention, 
and  had  dragged  his  unwilling  mother  to  call.  She 
had  tumbled  into  some  disgraceful  scene — tumblers 
thrown  about  and  whisky  splashed  all  over  her,  or 
something  like  that. 

Mrs.  Vereker's  icy  bow  was  in  itself  isolating. 
There  is  nothing  realised  more  quickly  by  sensitive 
people  than  unpopularity. 

With  cheeks  which  grew  pink,  with  heads  held 
high,  the  Considines  realised  that  the  aloofness  of 
the  first  day  had  been  no  accident  ;  that  Ballydare 
meant  to  have  none  of  them.  Old  Knox  said  "  Good- 
morning  "  kindly,  but  showed  no  intention  of  intro- 


Clennelford  173 

ducing  them  to  his  wife  ;  other  men  came  up  and 
talked  ;  the  women,  many  of  them  doubtfully  as 
they  looked  at  the  pretty  young  faces,  kept  away. 
There  were  no  lack  of  people  to  talk  to  though, 
for  the  Midshire  Regiment  gathered  about  them 
in  force,  and  because  they  were  unhappy  the 
girls  talked  over-loudly,  chaffed  over-brightly,  were 
in  every  way  the  good  fun  they  were  intended 
to  be. 

"  Dull  old  things !  "  Moira's  ready  tongue  flashed 
remark  upon  the  county  women,  picking  out  differ- 
ences in  their  looks,  with  a  sharpness  she  felt  to  be 
hateful.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  ride  past 
with  a  crowd  of  men,  to  laugh  as  if  she  had  never 
been  so  merry,  while  all  the  time  her  eyes  were 
smarting  and  her  heart  aching,  and  she  wanted  some 
one  to  help  and  advise  her ;  wanted — the  thought 
amazed  her  suddenly — the  Hermit.  His  sad,  blue 
eyes  would  have  seen  her  through  the  difficulty, 
his  quiet  voice  have  directed  her  what  to  do  ;  for 
Moira  was  forced  to  allow  to  herself  that  this  was 
not  at  all  what  she  had  intended  it  to  be.  The  faint 
welcome  they  had  been  accorded  was  not  the  triumphal 
progress  which  she  had  pictured.  She  knew  there 
was  to  be  a  dance  at  Ballyclough  in  a  week's  time,  to 
which  they  were  not  asked,  a  big  afternoon  at  Knock 
Castle,  and  a  hockey  match  at  Kilavon. 

There  were  tears  in  Moira's  eyes  as  she  flashed 
back  over-smart  answers  to  Milton's  clumsy  badinage, 
and  felt  that  she  welcomed  his  attentions.  He  pointed 
out  the  country  to  her,  telling  her  of  last  year's  runs 
from  this  particular  gorse,  and  how  gallantly  he, 
Lancelot  Milton,  had  ridden  them. 


174  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Once,  early  in  the  year,  a  fox  had  crossed  the  valley 
to  Dirk  Hills,  ten  miles  away  ;  they  had  found  late, 
and  run  until  it  was  too  dark  to  see  the  fences  on  the 
heathery  slopes  of  the  hill.  People  had  been  left  that 
evening,  but  he — he  pointed  to  a  cottage  on  the  slope 
— had  jumped  a  huge  coped  wall  there  and  got  slap 
off  with  them. 

"It  was  a  fizzer,  I  tell  you.  A  hunt  to  dream 
of,"  said  Milton,  seeing  Moira's  eyes  widen  in 
admiration. 

Another  memorable  day  they  had  run  left-handed 
off  the  hill,  got  away  from  the  stone-wall  country 
and  crossed  the  brown  bog  they  could  see  in 
the  lowlands.  It  appeared  that  there  were  huge 
drains  there,  and  one  in  particular  about  eighteen 
feet  wide,  which  his  good  horse  had  cleared  without 
a  scramble.  Moira's  eyes  grew  brighter ;  it  was 
an  honour  to  talk  to  this  flyer  of  the  hunt.  She 
thought  she  would  try  to  follow  him  if  they  got 
away. 

Dennis  Vereker's  pleasant  red  face  drifted  towards 
them  ;  he  was  clearly  looking  for  Eva.  "  Remember 
the  big  hunt  to  Dirk  from  here,  Milton?"  he  said. 
"  Not  many  of  us  got  through  that." 

Milton  said  people  could  not  see  in  the  dark,  but 
he  did  not  seem  to  want  to  talk  any  more  about  the 
hunt. 

"  Moroney,  my  mother,  Knox,  and  Hamilton  were 
alone  with  them  when  they  were  whipped  off,"  went 
on  Dennis,  oblivious  of  other  topics. 

"  Oh,  then  you  didn't  get  to  the  hill,"  said  Moira, 
looking  at  Milton,  who  had  given  her  to  understand 
otherwise. 


Clennelford  175 

"  Milton  !  He  never  got  off  the  hill  here"  said 
Dennis,  with  brutal  candour.  "  He  got  about  the 
same  start  as  I  did." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Moira,  while  Captain  Milton  murmured 
something  concerning  bad  memories  in  a  peevish 
voice. 

The  Star  was  not  kicking  so  often  to-day,  though, 
if  Moira  had  known,  she  was  far  more  dangerous,  for 
the  mare  abandoned  mere  lashes  into  the  brown,  and 
took  to  diving  at  an  unwary  follower  with  a  deadly 
precision. 

Hounds  were  thrown  into  a  patch  of  gorse  on  bare 
hillside  ;  rolling  hills  all  round,  fenced  with  loose 
stone  walls.  It  was  the  country  which  the  Hermit 
had  spoken  of,  and  Moira's  spirits  rose.  The  Star 
could  jump  stone  walls.  The  close  gorse  crackled 
as  the  hounds  waded  through  ;  sterns,  some  tipped 
with  blood,  waved  in  barer  places,  at  times  a  lean 
head  rose  as  a  hound  leaped.  A  whimper  sounded. 
He  was  there,  lying  close  in  some  thick  corner. 
There  was  no  covert  to  dwell  in,  and  a  moment  later 
he  broke,  a  small,  light-coloured  fox,  slipping  away 
down  the  hill,  and  ere  he  was  a  field  away  Moroney 
had  his  hounds  out.  There  was  no  waiting  at 
Ballydare  :  to  kill  a  fox  you  must  press  him.  But 
"  smell,"  the  mysterious,  failed  them  to-day.  There 
was  no  driving  on  a  red-hot  scent,  as  there  had  been 
through  the  bog.  Short  time  as  their  fox  had  been 
gone,  they  could  only  hunt  in  snatches,  racing  for  a 
moment,  pulling  up  as  hounds  diverted,  and  always 
with  wild  yells  from  some  neighbouring  slope  as  the 
countrymen  viewed  him.  For  he  was  a  ringing  and 
soon  a  tired  little  fox,  twisting  up  and  down  until 


176  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

he  sought  shelter  in  every  hedge,  without  spirit  to 
dash  away  for  some  distant  covert.  There  was 
nothing  to  jump  but  the  loose  stone  walls  and  an 
occasional  single  bank.  It  was  The  Star's  day.  With 
her  head  up,  she  flew  the  highest  spots,  tucking  up 
her  long  legs  like  a  deer.  Nothing  mattered  to  Moira 
as  they  cleared  one  stiffer  than  the  rest,  while  more 
careful  people  wrestled  with  a  gate.  The  cheque 
began  to  appear  once  more,  the  hope  of  selling  the 
grey  to  become  a  certainty.  The  girl's  cheeks  flushed, 
her  eyes  sparkled,  she  was  a  very  pretty  thing  in  her 
startling  habit  as  she  sat  down  to  the  rocketing 
springs,  and  felt  that,  after  all,  her  mare  was  a 
treasure.  It  suited  Eva  also,  for  there  were  many 
gaps  to  walk  through,  and  constant  checks  to  give 
the  big  horse  time.  Dennis  Vereker,  one  wary  eye 
upon  his  mother,  also  managed  to  be  far  behind,  and 
to  take  Eva  by  short  ways  which  she  would  never 
have  thought  of. 

And  through  it,  as  they  circled  and  galloped 
and  checked,  Moira  was  surprised  not  to  see 
Captain  Milton  thrusting  ahead.  Instead  she  saw 
him  more  than  once  taking  his  turn  at  gaps  with 
a  strange  and  unambitious  meekness.  The  ex- 
planation was  forced  upon  her  at  one  of  the  many 
checks. 

"  Rotten  hunt !  He  was  saving  his  horse  for  the 
evening." 

They  galloped  on  slowly,  up  one  hill,  down  another, 
with  the  yells  in  front  growing  in  volume. 

"  Come  on,  let  ye  !  Come  on  !  He  was  dead  beat 
here,  an'  the  tail  thrailing  on  him.  Come  on,  Misther 
Moroney,  a.n'  kill  him.  Huroo  !  Woo  !  " — the  wild, 


Clennelford  177 

eerie  Irish  yells  rising  shrilly  in  their  longing  for  a 
kill. 

Sportsmen  to  the  heart's  core,  if  no  paid  patriots 
were  there  to  turn  their  childish  minds  to  thoughts 
of  resentment  against  the  huntsmen  who  pound  across 
their  land. 

"  Begor,  ye  have  him  nearly  cot."  A  man  came  flying 
to  open  a  gate.  "  He's  but  two  minutes  up  the  hedge 
here,  and  he's  lookin'  for  a  rat-hole.  Make  on,  let  ye, 
with  yer  dogs  !  " 

And  the  said  dogs  were  at  fault.  Moroney  mildly 
pointed  out  the  difficulty  of  hurrying. 

The  man  remarked  with  contempt  that  "they  were 
no  use  for  smhellin',  and  wasn't  there  some  one 
schreechin'  now  beyant  ?  Begor,  ye'll  nivir  kill  him  if 
ye  delay,"  he  added  sourly,  as  they  hit  it  off  and 
galloped  on. 

The  hill  they  now  crossed  was  fenced  with  high 
bramble-grown  banks,  and  The  Star  found  life  more 
trying,  but  the  ditches  were  fortunately  narrow,  so 
that  she  did  not  come  to  grief.  She  was,  however, 
tiring  rapidly. 

"  It's  lovely.  Oh,  too  lovely."  Kathleen's  eager 
cry  to  her  sister  came  to  the  Master's  ears,  and  he 
absolutely  smiled.  He  had  heard  Mrs.  Vereker's 
stories  ;  his  hounds  had  been  kicked  by  The  Star  ; 
but  his  heart  warmed  to  a  lover  of  hunting.  If  he 
had  a  wife  he  would  have  sent  her  to  call.  As  it 
was,  he  said  something  sadly  pleasant,  as  he  rode 
past,  about  the  Star's  wall  jumping,  and  sent  Moira's 
spirits  to  fever  point.  At  the  very  next  fence, 
Mrs.  Knox  came  down  and  Moira  caught  her  horse. 
They  were  away  from  the  rest  of  the  field.  The  thin 

*      12 


178  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

lady  smiled  at  the  deed,  and  decided  to  be  civil. 
Clearly  this  was  a  day  of  good  fortune. 

She  would  come  to  call.  She  rode  on,  listening  to 
Moira's  prattle  with  an  indulgent  smile.  Meantime, 
the  rings  grew  smaller,  and  they  were  very  near  a 
beaten  fox ;  dead  tired,  he  crawled  before  them, 
listening  to  the  yap,  yap,  but  two  fields  behind,  and 
then  he  saved  himself.  A  marsh  lay  at  the  hill's  base  ; 
cobalt  and  golden  brown,  brilliant  blue  waters  a- 
ripple  against  a  mesh  of  coarse  grasses  and  reeds. 
In  its  midst  rose  a  little  island,  and  there  he  found 
shelter.  Countrymen  dancing  on  the  brink  had 
seen  him  cross,  shrill  voices  urged  the  pack  to  follow. 
"  Go  on,  let  ye.  Cess,  cess,  he's  beyant.  Arrah, 
swhim  it  over,  ye  divils." 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  in  the  sunlight,  as  hounds 
splashed  and  swam  on  the  verge,  while  the  Master 
swore  softly.  The  faint  scent  had  vanished  here  on 
the  cold  bog.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  to  be  done, 
for  a  wide  stretch  of  deep  waters  guarded  the  tiny 
island,  and  after  some  seasonable  suggestions  advising 
collapsible  boats  instead  of  terriers,  they  had  to 
leave  him. 

"  An'  he  scharce  able  to  swim,"  observed  the 
local  postman,  who  had  been  throwing  stones  across, 
with  some  vague  idea  that  the  hounds  might  go 
out  and  fetch  them.  "  Ould  Duck  at  home'd  be 
better  for  thim,"  he  added  contemptuously.  "  If 
I  threw  a  rock  for  her,  she  wouldn't  be  long,  I 
tell  ye." 

A  dark  cloud  was  creeping  upwards  as  they  jogged 
to  the  next  draw  ;  rain  coming  swiftly  over  the  river. 
They  had  just  found  when  it  fell  ;  no  ordinary 


Clennelford  1 79 

shower,  but  straight  and  heavy,  and  tropical  in  its 
violence,  and  with  sting  of  melted  hail  in  its  chill 
touch.  The  hillside,  the  square  covert,  were  blotted 
out ;  horses  were  huddled  against  the  green  hedges, 
with  some  delusive  idea  of  gaining  shelter.  As  they 
stood  in  the  cold  dimness,  drenched  and  wretched, 
the  Dirk  hills  were  shadow-flecked,  still  golden  in 
patches  beneath  the  sun,  and  the  tableland  between 
lay  fair  and  green,  a  perfect  hunting  country.  What 
scent  there  had  been  was  washed  away  ;  even 
hounds  faltered,  unable  to  face  the  storm  of  pitiless 
waters. 

Minds  detached  themselves  from  fox-hunting, 
turned  swiftly  to  the  glow  of  firesides  ;  the  comfort 
of  hot  water,  of  steaming  tea  and  buttered  toast. 
Horse  after  horse  was  slipped  away  off  the  hill. 
Moira  and  Eva,  standing  talking  to  Dennis  Vereker, 
yearned  for  the  car  and  for  a  shelter. 

"  The  road  was  close  by,"  he  told  them.  His  eyes 
grew  sad,  for  he  knew  that  his  house  was  just  beyond 
it,  and  that  he  dared  not  ask  them  in. 

"  You  live  down  there,  don't  you  ?  "  asked  Moira. 
"  You  will  soon  be  dry." 

The  much-crushed  will  of  Denis  Vereker  wriggled 
and  almost  stood  up.  He  murmured  something 
incoherent  about  their  being  too  wet  to  ask  in,  and 
his  eyes  dwelt  upon  Eva,  pretty  still,  though  a  stream 
of  water  trickled  down  her  face,  and  her  fair  hair  was 
drenched.  There  were  moments  when  Dennis 
regretted  his  habit  of  serfdom,  and  this  was  one  of 
them.  He  was  as  much  in  love  as  he  dared  to  be. 

"  I "  He  raised  his  head,  his  red  face  shining 

in  the  rain.  "  I " 


180          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Dennis,"  said  a  voice  from  the  other  side  of  the 
hedge.  "  Have  you  seen  Dennis  ?  I  want  him  to 
come  home  at  once.  He  had  a  slight  cold  this 
morning.  Dennis ! "  The  clear,  hard  voice  rose 
to  a  call. 

"  I  think I  suppose  I  had  better  go."  Dennis 

looked  at  the  gap  in  the  hedge — and  Eva  knew  he 
was  counting  his  chances  of  reaching  it  before  his 
mother  knew  who  he  was  talking  to. 

"  Yes,  I  certainly  think  so,"  she  said  drily,  and 
something  in  her  eyes  made  that  long  crushed  will 
power  wriggle  again,  this  time  with  a  wrench  of 
pain. 

He  rode  away  quickly,  and  Eva,  looking  down  at 
her  dripping  gloves,  hummed  a  tune.  It  was  an  air 
she  had  often  heard  two  years  ago  upon  the  lake  at 
Borrisdeane.  "  Glory  to  the  men  of  old,"  and  to  her 
too  came  a  quick  tinge  of  pain. 

"  How  on  earth  can  you  sing  songs  in  the 
deluge  !  "  said  Moira  wrathfully.  "  You  might  be  a 
Lorry." 

Eva  presumed  thoughtfully  that  she  meant  a 
Lorelei,  and  they  galloped  to  find  the  car.  Patsy's 
fears  were  not  heeded  now ;  the  horses  were  so 
dejected  that  he  led  them  without  difficulty,  and  even 
the  roan  forebore  to  stop  when  asked  to  start.  James 
Dunne's  friend,  who  smelt  fierily  of  whisky,  and  who 
said  huskily  "  that  if  he  closed  his  eyes  he'd  think  the 
Dare  was  rollin'  over  him,"  took  advantage  of  this 
strange  gentleness  to  beat  the  roan  to  a  canter  and 
keep  him  at  it  until  they  swung  on  one  wheel  through 
the  gates  at  The  Beeches.  Here  he  demanded  still 
more  whisky,  and  was  sent  away  in  a  somnolent  state, 


Clennelford  181 

with  James  Dunne,  who  promised  to  return  "  whin  he 
had  the  crayther  at  home,"  driving. 

Biddy  declared  she  would  rather  peel  eggs  than 
undo  their  habits,  and  pitied  them  sorely.  And  old 
Dunne,  who  returned,  quickly  made  boiling  hot  tea 
to  comfort  and  warm  them. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THEATRE-GOING 

IT  was  Moira  who  suggested  going  to  the  theatre. 
With  eyes  which  sparkled  with  excitement,  she 
read  in  the  Ballydare  Moderator  that  Mr.  Seploy  and 
full  company  were  about  to  play  nightly  in  the  Town 
Hall.  Now,  Moira  had  read  of  footlights  and  powder 
and  patches.  She  had  even  had  her  dream  (as  almost 
every  girl  has)  of  acting  herself;  coming,  a  vision  of 
beauty,  in  a  setting  of  painted  canvas,  and  holding 
great  London  audiences  spellbound.  But  she  had 
seen  nothing. 

"We  must  go,  Eva" — she  waved  the  newspaper, 
sweeping  her  sisters  with  her  in  her  usual  impetuous 
way.  "  We  must  make  up  a  party  and  go.  You  can 
wear  your  pale  blue  (you've  not  had  it  on  yet),  and  I 
my  cream,  and  Kathleen " 

Kathleen  said  she  was  going  out  to  a  far  meet, 
on  a  horse  of  Malone's.  She  would  be  too  tired 
to  hunt.  Mr.  Stanley  and  Mr.  Leeds  were  driving 
her  there. 

There  was  no  kindly  voice  to  warn  the  Considines 
that  people  might  raise  eyebrows  at  this  method  of 
accepting  lifts. 

"Well;  we'll  go,  then.  Milly  will  come"— they 
182 


Theatre^going  183 

used  the  regimental  nickname  in  private,  and  Moira 
mentally  determined  to  ask  Dennis  Vereker.  She 
met  him  in  the  town  that  morning,  waiting  in  the 
motor  for  his  mother,  and  propounded  the  idea. 

"  Have  you  got  any  idea  of  what  it's  like  ?  "  he  said 
dubiously. 

Moira  feverishly  declared  that  it  was  a  magnificent 
company,  coming  straight  from  London  to  act  Irish 
plays.  Lots  of  people  would  go.  They  were  long- 
ing to,  and  it  would  be  fun.  Her  match-making 
mind  thought  of  Eva  in  the  flimsy  blue  chiffon, 
with  a  large  bow  at  the  back,  to  hide  where  the 
Borrisdeane  dressmaker  had  pulled  the  bodice 
crooked. 

Dennis  knew  that  on  various  widely  distant  occa- 
sions Ballydare  did  go  to  the  Town  Hall,  and  he 
thought  this  might  be  one  of  them.  With  a  weak 
protest  he  promised,  and  promptly  lost  himself  in  the 
invention  necessary  to  lull  his  mother's  suspicions. 
Dennis  at  bridge  in  barracks  was  fairly  safe,  and 
had  served  before  on  other  occasions ;  so  he  was 
ready  before  the  coldly  handsome  presence,  wrapped 
in  furs,  descended  upon  him. 

"  Dining  in  barracks.  With  whom  ?  "  Mrs.  Vereker 
queried  sharply.  She  could  not  penetrate  behind 
those  gloomy,  grey  walls,  and  the  fear  of  an  after 
adjournment  to  the  Considines  was  upon  her. 
Dennis  shaved  a  donkey-cart  with  some  skill.  His 
brain  was  not  a  ready  one ;  he  wanted  time. 

As  the  terrified  driver  of  the  ass  adjusted  herself, 
and  prayed  to  the  Virgin  to  "blight  thim  mothers," 
Dennis's  thoughts  were  ready. 

"  With   Cromartin,"   he   said  ;    and    then   groaned, 


184  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

seeing  that  tall  youth  in  uniform,  a  bank  book  in  his 
hand,  lounging  down  the  narrow  street.  That  he 
should  hail  them,  and  inquire  if  he  would  meet  them 
to-night  at  the  Havilands',  seemed  just  what  Dennis 
had  expected. 

"When  you'd  asked  me  to  dine  with  you?"  said 
Dennis  unhappily,  with  contortions  of  his  nose  and 
eyes  which  made  Mrs.  Mahony,  glancing  from  her 
shop,  spread  the  tale  that  "  Misther  Dennis  had 
the  St.  Vitus  got."  Cromartin,  observing  these 
signs,  remembered  his  hospitality  with  feverish 
haste  ;  but  Dennis's  invention  had  nearly  played  him 
false. 

He  dined,  instead,  at  The  Beeches,  and  wondere 
why  soup,  and  roast  ducks,  and  snipe,  with  Ma 
Kate  waiting  spasmodically  (in  the  intervals  of  talking 
to  Patsy),  was  so  much  a  nicer  dinner  than  the  long, 
gloomy  feasts  in  the  great  dining-room  at  Knock 
Castle,  with  footmen  to  anticipate  each  want,  and 
wines  for  every  course.  The  silence  ate  into  one's 
appetite,  there ;  the  marble  men  and  women  seemed 
to  watch  and  grudge.  His  voice,  as  he  answered  his 
mother,  echoed  into  the  corners,  until  he  was  glad 
when  there  was  no  answer  to  make — he  could  eat  in 
silence.  Eva,  in  the  blue  chiffon,  was  pretty  enough 
to  witch  a  stronger-natured  man  ;  there  was  no 
Captain  Milton  to  change  the  merriment  to  doubtful 
chaff,  and  throw  bread  at  bared  arms  and  necks ; 
and  Dennis,  whose  life  knew  little  peace,  felt  it  fall 
upon  him  and  wrap  him  about  as  a  warm  cloak 
wraps  chilled  shoulders.  There  was  no  necessity 
to  lie ;  no  need  to  form  and  frame  the  constant 
excuses  which  were  always  upon  his  lips.  And 


Theatrc-'going  185 

yet,  as  he  watched  Eva,  and  felt  the  little  spirit 
left  in  him  quicken  to  her  glance,  some  instinct 
seemed  to  whisper  that  his  chains  were  stronger 
than  his  desire ;  that  the  bride  who  would  come 
with  him  to  Knock  Castle  would  never  be  of  his 
choosing.  Thus  his  weak  nature,  abandoning 
thought,  was  content  to  be  happy,  until  Moira, 
watching,  felt  that  all  was  as  it  should  be,  and 
she  would  soon  write  to  the  Hermit,  telling  him  of 
her  great  success ;  Eva,  reigning  at  the  big,  quiet 
house ;  Eva,  with  diamonds  in  her  pretty  hair,  with 
horses  and  motor-cars,  and  weak,  pleasant  Dennis 
Vereker  as  a  husband.  Of  Eva's  own  ideas  on  the 
subject  Moira  did  not  think  at  all.  They  drove  down 
in  the  motor.  Dennis,  who  had  only  been  to  charity 
entertainments,  saw  nothing  unusual  in  their  evening 
dresses  ;  but  Captain  Milton,  who  was  waiting  sourly 
on  the  doorsteps,  glanced  at  them  with  dismay, 
announcing  that  not  a  decent  soul  had  gone  in,  and 
he  was  afraid  they  would  be  stared  at.  Better  keep 
on  their  wraps. 

But  bared  necks  and  rustling  frills  were  not  joys 
to  be  lightly  forgone.  The  girls  took  off  their  coats, 
and  sat  down  amid  an  audience  which  smelt  lightly 
of  porter,  and  heavily  of  tobacco  and  many  other 
things. 

The  little  stuffy  hall,  with  a  dingy  curtain  drawn 
across  a  narrow  stage,  was  not  Moira's  idea  of  a 
theatre.  She  looked  about  in  unveiled  disappoint- 
ment, while  the  muttered  remarks  of  her  neighbours 
drifted  to  her  ears. 

"  Queer  ones,  the  quality."  This  from  a  young 
woman  in  a  pink  flannel  blouse  and  a  green  hat. 


1 86          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Wouldn't  you  be  ashamed  now,  Misther  Magee,  to 
come  bare  like  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Magee,  a  stalwart  and  dirty  youth,  observed 
that  indeed  and  he  would. 

"  Just  a  whirl  of  chiffong  for  a  sleeve,"  a  whisper 
from  another  maiden.  "  My  dear,  but  I'd  be  cowld 
in  it  meself,  Danny." 

Danny,  who  was  apparently  a  theatre  goer,  said 
he'd  seen  the  quality  stripped  before.  "  'Twas  the 
only  way  they'd  listen  to  a  play,"  he  explained. 
"  He'd  seen  thim  here  when  the  gentlefolk  acted  a 
play,  here,  and  away  in  Dublin,  where  they'd  dazzle 
ye  round  in  the  boxes." 

All  these  remarks  were  too  clearly  audible. 
Captain  Milton  stared  round  haughtily,  with  the 
furious  expression  of  the  man  who  does  not  know 
how  to  carry  out  his  fury,  and  Dennis  Vereker, 
perceiving  they  ought  never  to  have  come,  grew 
crimson  and  unhappy.  They  were  a  mark  for 
every  glance  among  the  soberly  dressed  crowd, 
and  he  clearly  caught  the  eye  of  their  steward,  who 
was  away  for  the  night.  The  play  was  "  The 
Shaughraun,"  and  the  house  was  crowded  ;  crowded, 
curiously  enough,  with  a  great  many  priests,  and 
men  who  bent  to  whisper  to  them,  as  though  some 
plot  was  on  foot. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  the  same  company,  play- 
ing at  Ballydare  a  year  before,  had  deeply  offended 
some  of  the  more  religious  people  there  by  their 
reading  of  the  piece.  English  people  are  over-apt  to 
burlesque  the  Irish  ;  the  Catholic  Church  was  up  in 
arms  at  what  they  deemed  mockery  of  their  pro- 
fession, and  were  there  that  night  to  protest,  if  certain 


Theatre^going  187 

things  were  acted  in  the  same  way  again.  The  little 
party  from  The  Beeches  had  unwittingly  lighted  on 
an  unfortunate  evening  for  their  outing,  and  the 
curtain  rose  at  last,  and  the  famous  drama  was 
played  on.  Despite  the  drawbacks  of  her  sur- 
roundings ;  despite  the  hopeless  task  of  English 
people  trying  to  master  the  Irish  accent ;  despite 
the  vulgarity  which  they  undoubtedly  introduced  ; 
Moira  followed  it  all  with  shining  eyes  and  bated 
breath,  and  a  complete  lack  of  attention  to  her 
companion,  who  whispered  sneering  comments  in 
her  ear. 

"  Play  !  "  He  laughed  aloud  as  the  curtain  came 
down.  "  Call  that  a  play !  I  really  believe  you 
looked  at  it,  Miss  Moira." 

Moira,  unashamed,  said  she  had. 
"  Play  !  If  I  could  take  you  to  London,  to  a  show 
at  the  Gaiety !  Dresses  an'  songs  an'  dances  an' 
Connie  Ediss  an'  Payne  an'  Grossmith.  That's  a 
play,  if  you  like.  None  of  your  hang-talkey  talk, 
but  something  to  laugh  at  all  along,  and  people  you 
know  of  to  look  at." 

The  criticism  aptly  represented  Milton's  view  of 
life,  but  Moira  was  lost  in  its  dazzle.  She  had  read 
of  great  names,  and  quoted  them  now  glibly.  Tree, 
Wyndham,  Bouchier.  If  she  could  but  see  some 
of  those. 

"  Tree  ?  "  Milton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Oh,  if 
you  come  to  a  play  with  me  it'll  be  to  something 
worth  seeing.  Tree's  all  right — not  that  I  ever  saw 
him — but  he  acts  Shakespeare,  rotten  old  stuff,  all 
about  nothing.  No,  thanks.  Oh,  here's  the  show  on 
again." 


1 88  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

There  had  been  a  whispering  among  the  black- 
coated  listeners  ;  a  working  up,  as  it  were,  to  some 
course  of  action.  Looks  of  protest,  pointings,  hands 
waved  in  indignation,  and  one  man,  a  fat  and  bald- 
headed  tradesman,  was  called  upon  and  shoved  for- 
ward, moving  his  lips  as  though  rehearsing  a  speech. 
The  remarks  were  plainly  audible,  and  Dennis 
listened  uneasily. 

"  That's  McCann,"  watching  a  young  priest  whisper 
in  the  ear  of  a  red-headed  man  ;  "  and  that  old  fellow 
he's  talking  to  is  Conolly  the  draper.  I  wonder 
what's  up,  or  what's  annoying  them  !  They're  fair 
fire-brands,  both  of  'em." 

"  A  gross  travesty.  I  tell  ye  'tis  that  same  on  our 
race  an'  ways."  Conolly  the  draper  had  a  rolling 
voice.  "  Oh,  I'll  sphake,  yer  reverence.  I  will 
indeed."  He  stopped  as  a  cracked  bell  rang  behind 
the  scenes,  the  curtain  was  dragged  up  in  jerks, 
and  a  grimy  hand  turned  down  the  footlights  one 
by  one. 

The  old  play  proceeded  to  the  well-known  scene  of 
the  wake  ;  with  Con  lying  dead,  and  the  actors  about 
him  doubling  their  efforts  to  be  merry  and  make 
people  laugh.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  burlesque  upon 
the  Irish  customs,  but  it  held  the  greater  portion  of 
the  house.  Father  Dolan,  a  thin  man  with  a  distinct 
cockney  accent,  drew  down  laughter  as  he  drank 
whisky  from  a  teapot,  and  winked  out  that  he  did 
not  know  it,  for  "  tay." 

The  lady  in  the  pink  blouse  giggled  hysterically. 
Danny,  close  to  them,  said  "  Begor,  'twas  grand." 
But  the  laughter  ceased  suddenly,  for  fat  Conolly 
shot  to  his  feet,  a  priest  at  either  elbow. 


Theatre^going  1 8  9 

"  I  protest,"  he  roared  loudly ;  "  I  protest  on  yer 
actin' ;  'tis  a  travesty  ye're  makin'  on  our  race  an'  on 
our  ways.  Sthop  ye're  play  or  act  it  dacent ;  that's 
what  I'm  v'icin  now  for  us  here.  What's  that,  ye're 
reverence  ?  Maybe  I  am  forgettin'  what  ye  told 
me.  Anyway,  I  say  I  protest ;  the  play  must  be 
stopped." 

The  actors  stood  amazed.  Father  Dolan,  holding 
the  teapot,  scurried  to  the  wings.  Con's  mother 
said  "  Lor'  a  mussy "  as  she  caught  at  a  stage 
Irishman,  who  hurriedly  replied,  "  Crikey — strike  me 
blind." 

The  audience,  for  a  space,  were  silent,  then,  be- 
lieving it  to  be  right,  cheered  the  interrupters  lustily, 
those  who  had  laughed  loudest  being  the  most 
emphatic. 

The  actors  looked  at  Con,  who  was  their  actor 
manager,  and  the  uproar  swelled  and  grew. 

Mr.  Conolly  very  testily  called  for  silence,  so  that 
he  might  speak.  "  This  is  no  light  thing,"  he  said. 
"  I  protest.  Ye're  all  actin'  drunk  at  a  dacent  wake, 
an'  that's  disgracin'  our  country  an'  our  clergy.  Ye 
do  it  like  this  over  in  England,  and  people  believe  'tis 
true.  I  tell  ye  ye're  renderin'  is  an  or — gie — no  less." 
Conolly  wiped  his  face.  "  Not  a  sober  man  on  the 
stage,"  he  boomed. 

The  corpse  of  Con,  listening  to  urgent  appeals, 
rolled  off  the  bed  and  strolled  down  to  the  footlights. 
He  was  a  lean,  leisurely  man,  with  a  red  complexion, 
badly  obscured  by  powder.  His  first  endeavours 
to  speak  were  drowned  in  a  storm  of  boos,  but  he 
gained  silence  after  a  time. 

"  Bit  'ard,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  the  corpse  thoughtfully  ; 


190          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  played  it  this  way  for  years.     No  intention  to  offend. 
I  wasn't  drunk,  anyhow.     Was  I,  eh?  " 

"  You  were  the  very  worst,  sir,"  thundered  Conolly, 
red  hot  for  argument  and  further  oratory. 

"  I  was  dead,  man,"  said  the  corpse  plaintively. 

"  Dead  drunk,"  a  ready  Irish  voice  spoke,  and  the 
house  roared  to  sudden  laughter.  Con's  corpse,  eyeing 
them  peevishly,  chewed  a  toothpick  and  balanced  a 
corpse  candle  on  his  forefinger. 

When  given  time  again,  he  said  he  was  sorry  if 
they'd  offended  ;  they  had  been  taught  to  act  it  like 
that. 

"It  was  .  .  .  what,  Father?  .  .  .  A  burlyesque,  sir," 
thundered  Conolly  ;  "  a  carric-a-turey,  a  turey,  a 
travestie.  All  of  ye  dhrunk,  includin'  yerself,  the 
corpse,  that  was  no  betther  than  the  resht,  but  worse, 
since  he  manages  it  all.  Did  ever  one  of  ye — ye 
boys,"  he  whirled  to  his  now  sympathetic  audience — 
"  did  iver  one  of  ye  see  Father  Connol  or  Father 
Maddigan  to  drink  whisky  from  a  teapot  an'  ye  lyin' 
dead  ?  " 

No  one  seemed  to  have  done  so.  The  appeal 
wrought  instant  effect.  The  men  in  the  audience, 
with  true  Irish  readiness,  sprang  to  their  feet.  With 
roars  and  boos  and  hisses  and  howls  they  swarmed 
for  the  stage,  thundering  curses  upon  Con  and  his 
fellow  mummers,  reserving  special  threats  for  Father 
Dolan,  who  was  pointing  the  teapot  nozzle  at  his 
enemies,  vowing  as  they  rushed  on  that  they'd 
stretch  Con's  corpse  into  a  real  one  before  they'd 
done. 

Fat  Conolly,  caught  by  the  wave,  was  unfortunately 
the  first  to  suffer.  He  went  down  beneath  the  stamp- 


Theatre^going  191 

ing  feet,  crawling  beneath  the  chairs  for  safety,  and 
praying  for  assistance. 

Con's  mother,  a  young  actress,  flung  her  arms  about 
her  dead  son,  shrilling  police  and  murder  as  she  did 
so  at  the  audience.  The  curtains  were  dragged  to, 
and  the  orchestra,  who  was  a  solitary  pianist,  swarmed 
for  safety  over  the  footlights,  howling  for  mercy  as 
Father  Dolan's  teapot,  which  he  had  discharged 
at  the  audience  ere  he  fled,  struck  him  full  in  the 
face. 

The  Considines  and  their  escort  were  swept  away 
by  the  crowd,  engulfed  in  the  mass  of  angry  men, 
bent  this  way  and  that  as  the  uproar  increased,  and 
finding  the  difficulty  of  staying  together  greater  at 
each  moment.  Finally  Moira  found  herself  clinging 
convulsively  to  the  man  she  had  heard  called  Danny, 
who,  being  peaceful,  was  struggling  towards  the  door. 
Dan  held  her  tight  and  called  her  "  darlin',"  apparently 
convinced  that  he  was  rescuing  his  own  young  woman, 
and  also  upbraided  her  when  he  found  breath  for  not 
courting  quietly  over  the  fire  at  home.  Some  way 
off  Moira  could  see  Dennis  Vereker's  red  young  face 
as  he  defended  Eva,  and  Milton  struggling  wildly  by 
himself. 

They  got  at  last  into  the  quiet  street,  torn,  panting, 
bruised,  to  fly  to  the  protection  of  two  policemen,  who 
had  no  idea  of  the  turmoil  within.  Moira  abandoned 
her  protector,  and  fled  to  seize  the  coated  arm  of  the 
law,  while  Danny  searched  helplessly  for  Katie,  still 
believing  he  had  brought  her  out.  A  large  portion  of 
the  crowd  had  surged  out  to  wait  at  the  stage  door, 
and  her  horror-stricken  eyes  now  beheld  Dennis 
Vereker  being  taken  for  one  of  the  actors. 


192  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

His  red  face  had  brushed  against  a  wall  and  was 
streaked  with  white,  and  his  dark  coat  covered  his 
evening  clothes. 

"  Tis  the  corpse,  the  divil,"  bellowed  a  youth ; 
and  Dennis,  putting  Eva  behind  him,  looked  into 
a  sea  of  furious  faces  and  found  explanation 
vain. 

"  The  corpse  an'  his  mamma,  no  less,"  said  some 
one  else.  "  We'll  tache  ye,"  and  followed  the 
speech  with  a  blow,  which  caught  Dennis  on  the 
nose. 

The  pain  sent  caution  flying.  Dennis  knew  how 
to  fight,  and  had  already  injured  two  assailants,  and 
knocked  down  Danny,  who  was  doing  nothing,  when 
his  steward,  working  to  his  side,  yelled  his  true  name 
to  the  attackers. 

The  crowd  drew  back  instantly.  "  God  save  us ; 
'tis  Misther  Vereker,  an'  he  having  put  two  of  me 
teeth  down  me  throat." 

Dan,  the  non-combatant,  spitting  blood,  threatened 
the  law  for  assault,  and  evil  fate  ordained  that  the 
reporter  of  the  local  paper  should  be  swept  close  to 
them  to  hear  and  note  it  all. 

A  motor  hooted,  driving  slowly  through  the  crowd. 
It  was  Cromartin  coming  home  from  dinner,  and  he 
pulled  up.  He  looked  from  panting,  torn  Moira  to 
panting,  frightened  Eva  ;  he  considered  Dennis's 
swollen  nose  ;  he  stared  at  the  surging  crowd  and 
the  two  policemen,  who  were  rapidly  producing  order; 
and  he  remarked,  with  feeling,  that  he  did  not  think 
he  would  care  for  the  play  at  Ballydare. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  Heaven's  happened  ? "  he 
asked,  as  he  wrapped  Moira  in  a  coat. 


Theatre^going  1 93 

"  It  was  the  wake," — Moira  dashed  into  the  car — 
"  and  the  whisky  and  the  corpse,  and  he  got 
drunk,  or  they  said  he  did,  and  he  spoke,  and  that 
was  it." 

Cromartin,  with  a  worried  air,  said  he  saw  it  all 
plainly.  From  his  manner  it  was  quite  evident  that 
he  believed  Dennis  to  have  been  slightly  drunk.  He 
looked  about.  "  Vereker  was  with  your  sister,  but 
where  the  Dickens  is  Milton  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  I  could  see,"  said  Dennis,  "  he  just  lit  for 
safety  the  moment  the  fun  began." 

He  got  to  his  car,  winding  it  up  hurriedly,  and  they 
drove  away  just  as  Captain  Milton,  who  had  sheltered 
in  the  cloak-room,  appeared  at  the  door,  and  fell  to 
cursing  softly. 

His  subsequent  explanation  of  having  been  abso- 
lutely swept  away,  of  righting  hard  for  his  own  life 
and  that  of  three  shop-girls,  was  received  with 
some  reserve  on  the  part  of  his  hearers.  But  Moira, 
as  she  looked  at  the  remains  of  her  cream  dress, 
felt  her  desire  for  theatre-going  at  Ballydare  die 
in  her. 

To  Dennis  Vereker's  horror  he  saw  next  day  before 
he  got  up  that  concealment  was  impossible  ;  for  the 
local  reporter,  seeking  to  please  the  local  magnate, 
described  the  matter  fully.  "  The  presence  of  the 
Miss  Considines,  accompanied  by  Captain  Milton 
and  Mr.  Vereker,  of  Castle  Knock,"  was  one  of  the 
headlines  ;  "  Young  Ladies  Swept  Away  by  the  Crowd 
— Gallant  Behaviour  of  a  Local  Gentleman."  Dennis, 
with  blinking  eyes,  felt  shame  tingle  through  him  as 
he  read  how  he  had  fought,  saving  Eva  as  he  went ; 
how  he  had  been  set  upon  outside,  mistaken  by 

13 


194          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

foolish  people  for  Con's  corpse ;  how  he  had  stricken 
and  been  struck. 

The  thunderous  presence  of  his  mother  was  not 
long  delayed.  She  had  read  the  paper  before  he  had. 
Black-haired,  splendidly  handsome,  she  towered  over 
her  supine  son,  while  her  quick  tongue  sought  and 
found  words  to  show  her  anger. 

"  These  shameless  girls — mere  adventuresses.  To 
have  gone  where  no  lady  would  have  entered ;  to 
have  led  Dennis  there !  She  knew  now  that  he 
had  lied  to  her.  They  would  see  after — these 
young  women — that  no  decent  soul  would  speak 
to  them." 

And  Dennis  Vereker,  over-used  to  tyranny,  cowered 
and  said  nothing.  It  is  hard  to  break  a  lifelong 
leading  string,  yet  Eva's  pretty  face  reproached  him 
as  he  lay  silent.  She  was  between  his  fancy,  and 
his  mother's  rule  might  be  a  greater  one  than  she 
dreamt  of. 

Patsy,  who  had  been  to  the  pit — or  what  passed  for 
one — with  Mary  Kate,  said  "  'twas  grand."  "  Sure, 
between  the  play  an'  the  fightin1,  ye  couldn't  wish  for 
more,"  he  said  next  day ;  "  and  the  corpse  chewin'  a 
feather  pen  in  his  mouth  an'  all.  If  we  had  but  a  few 
things  to  be  throwin',  we  might  have  done  a  bit  more. 
Faix,  they  left  to-day,"  said  Patsy  disconsolately,  "  or 
I'd  have  gone  agin  to-night.  I  was  too  far  back,"  he 
added,  as  he  polished  up  Gog's  thick  hide,  "but  I  got 
in  one  clout  to  a  lad  that  sthepped  on  me  toe — one 
he'll  remember,  too  ;  an'  I  thrampled  another's  hat, 
an'  that  was  all  I  had  out  of  it." 

So  far  as  the  real  reason  of  the  row  went,  Patsy  was 
quite  devoid  of  interest 


Theatre^going  1 9  5 

These  were  somewhat  troublous  days  for  Patsy, 
for  he  was  in  love.  Mary  Kate,  with  the  puffed 
hair,  had  witched  his  heart  from  him.  In  vain 
did  old  Biddy,  whose  great-nephew  he  was,  warn 
him  ;  in  vain  did  James  Dunne,  now  busy  at 
making  oat-bins,  drop  hints  concerning  Mary  Kate's 
other  attachments  and  the  futility  of  Patsy  contem- 
plating matrimony  on  the  sum  of  fourteen  pounds 
per  annum.  Patsy's  wants  during  his  life  had  been 
few  ;  he  had  some  money  in  the  post-office  bank, 
and  he  lavished  it  now  to  buy  smiles  from  the  fair 
Mary  Kate. 

Eva's  housewifely  soul  found  that  such  love-making 
did  not  help  her  handmaiden  to  work.  She  found 
there  were  but  faint  streaks  in  layers  of  dust  where 
polished  surface  should  have  appeared,  though  Mary 
Kate  declared  lightly  she'd  given  it  a  whip  with  a 
duster  the  very  day  before,  before  she  ran  out  for 
a  message — the  message  being  Patsy.  There  were 
stacks  of  cups  left  unwashed  in  the  pantry,  and  Patsy 
was  found  washing  them  when  he  ought  to  have  been 
with  his  horses.  The  Star's  delicate  appetite  missed 
its  pampering,  and  she  grew  leaner  daily  ;  Gog  ate 
his  bed,  unchecked  by  muzzling ;  even  Jim  Crow 
was  not  so  well.  The  Considines'  tender  hearts  were 
averse  to  separating  the  lovers,  but  they  felt  that 
something  must  be  done. 

James  Dunne,  consulted  delicately,  scratched  his 
white  locks  with  thoughtful  fingers.  It  appeared  that 
he  knew  for  a  fact  that  Mary  Kate  was  merely  trifling, 
and  he  advised  patience. 

"  Sorra  a  patience  I'd  have  with  their  likes,"  stormed 
Biddy.  " '  I'll  be  away  for  a  packet  of  hairpins,  Biddy/ 


196          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

says  she  ;  and  all  the  shops  shut,  an'  Patsy  waitin'  on 
the  road." 

It  was  in  such  straits  that  the  Hermit's  help 
was  so  badly  wanted.  He  would  have  known 
what  to  say  to  Patsy,  and  what  to  do  to  the  gay 
Mary  Kate.  In  her  distress  at  The  Star's  loss 
of  flesh,  Moira  sat  down  and  wrote  to  him  ;  and 
the  tone  of  her  letter,  underlying  the  constant 
assertions  of  success,  lacked  spirit.  Eva  was  grow- 
ing frightened  at  the  over-quick  spending  of  their 
money ;  no  one  wanted,  so  far,  to  buy  the  horses— 
the  undercurrent  of  all  this  ran  through  Moira's 
letter  to  Borrisdeane.  But,  on  the  other  side,  she 
could  hint  at  Eva's  great  conquest ;  she  could 
recount  the  tale  of  their  many  gaieties — their 
motor  drives,  their  bridge  parties — and  this  she  did 
at  length. 

The  Hermit's  reply  came  as  she  expected  it  to — by 
return  of  post.  "  He  was  not  at  all  sure,"  he  said, 
"  that  he,  too,  would  not  leave  Borrisdeane  for  a  time. 
After  all  these  years  he  thought  he  would  like  a 
change.  So  Mrs.  Vereker  did  not  like  them " — 
there  was  a  blot  on  the  page,  as  though  he  had 
raised  his  pen  to  think.  "  It  was  strange,  that. 
And  she  is  handsome  still?"  The  Hermit  seemed 
to  think  a  great  deal  about  Mrs.  Vereker,  thought 
Moira,  as  she  read.  "But  there  are  better  things 
than  great  beauty,  Moira,"  he  wrote,  "  and  a  man 
learns  this  after  a  time.  Its  glamour  sweeps  one 
away ;  rouses  the  love  which  is  not  real  love,  but  a 
thing  red-clad,  with  wrath  and  envy,  and  other  evil 
things  drawn  in  its  carriage.  Then  later,  perhaps, 
the  same  man  may  learn  what  real  love  is :  love 


Theatre'going  1 9  7 

for  a  girl  whose  heart  is  gold  below  her  childish 
follies " 

Moira  put  the  letter  down,  her  little  face  growing 
strangely  thoughtful.  Why  should  the  Hermit  write 
to  her  like  this  ?  Was  he,  after  all  these  quiet  years, 
in  love  himself?  Going  away  to  be  married?  To 
whom  ?  Moira  seemed  to  hear  the  dull  boom  of  the 
waves,  hear  the  whisper  of  the  lake  through  the  reeds  ; 
see  Oliver  Tremayne's  quiet  face  as  he  pulled  his  boat 
to  the  landing-place  of  piled-up  stones.  He,  too, 
was  leaving.  If  they  went  back,  he  would  not  be 
there  to  come  across ;  there  would  be  no  one  to 
wrangle  with,  no  one  to  mock  at  her  flights  of  fancy, 
to  cut  in  with  a  pungent  word  which  laid  some  wilful 
folly  bare.  The  stupid  old  Hermit ;  she  had  hated 
him  lately  ;  chafed  bitterly  because  she  felt  in  her 
inmost  heart  that  he  might  have  been  right  about 
this  expedition  which  she  had  forced  upon  the  others. 
Something  hurt  Moira's  throat,  she  felt  her  eyes  grow 
wet  without  knowing  why.  At  Borrisdeane  there  had 
been  no  bitter  experience  of  being  ignored  by  the 
people  one  wished  to  know  ;  no  constant  adding  up 
and  paying  out  of  losses  at  this  difficult  game  of 
bridge ;  no  fears  that  the  horses  one  counted  so 
much  on  might  go  wrong. 

She  took  the  letter  up  again.  The  Hermit 
reproached  her  for  a  lack  of  real  news.  Who  had 
called  upon  them  ?  Did  they  know  people  ?  Were 
the  horses  really  going  well?  If  she  wanted  help 
would  she  not  write  ?  Who  was  this  Milton  she 
mentioned  ? 

Moira  frowned  now.  Why  should  he  think  so  per- 
sistently that  things  had  gone  wrong?  What  help 


198  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

could  Oliver  Tremayne,  a  mere  recluse  and  hermit, 
give  to  her  in  this  new  home?  And  because  she 
knew  that  things  were  not  all  as  they  should  be,  and 
that  she  wanted  the  help  he  proffered,  she  flashed 
back  a  saucy  letter  full  of  their  joys,  and  very  full  of 
the  friendship  of  Captain  Milton,  who  rode  and  fished 
and  shot,  and  was  always  out  with  them  ;  told  how 
Kathleen  had  mounts  from  a  horse-dealer,  and  was 
driven  out  by  kindly  young  men  ;  how  they  had 
people  to  dine,  and  sat  up  until  one  in  the  morning 
playing  bridge,  and  various  other  things,  which  made 
Tremayne  sigh  very  deeply,  and  confirmed  him  in  his 
intention  of  leaving  Borrisdeane. 

Moira  put  her  letter  away,  and  went  to  the  yard. 
A  visit  to  The  Star  lacked  power  of  consolation. 
The  mare  was  listless,  and  plainly  ill ;  her  coat  stared, 
she  would  merely  pick  at  her  oats.  Gog's  legs  had 
again  swelled  to  the  thickness  of  "  bolsthers."  If  they 
wanted  to  hunt,  it  was  evident  that  they  must  hire 
from  Malone,  who  let  horses  out.  Kathleen  paid 
nothing,  but  they  were  different. 

There  was  a  good  meet  on  Friday,  and  they  must 
get  out.  Eva,  looking  helpless,  said  it  would  be  four 
guineas,  and  they  could  not  afford  it,  yet  allowed 
James  Dunne  and  his  donkey-cart  to  be  dispatched 
to  summon  Malone.  The  horse-dealer  arrived  at 
once  to  say  he  could  match  them  with  a  grey  and 
a  black  ;  one  a  trifle  hasty  at  his  lips,  and  the  other  a 
bit  fearsome  of  his  foremost  legs  when  he'd  land  ; 
but  both  great  horses  that  he  hired  regularly  to 
the  officers.  Also,  as  they  were  young  ladies,  and 
light-weights,  he'd  want  but  three  guineas  for  the 
two." 


Theatre-going  1 99 

He  examined  The  Star  with  dubious  eyes.  "  Her 
likes,  Miss  Moira,  niver  does  no  good,"  he  said 
emphatically.  "  Ye  see,  she  has  no  middle  on  her, 
and  one  day's  huntin'  'd  be  as  bad  to  her  as  three 
to  a  sthronger  med  horse.  When  ye  ride  the  black 
to-morrow,  maybe  ye  might  care  to  have  a  swhop. 
I  wouldn't  be  hard  on  the  bit  of  boot.  With  ye're 
weight  on  him  he'd  lasht  a  lifetime.  I  could  get  rid 
of  this  one." 

Moira  gasped.  To  "  swhop "  The  Star,  the  peer- 
less mare  which  was  to  bring  her  in  hundreds  of 
pounds  ;  to  give  her  and  extra  money  for  some 
broken-down  old  black  who  favoured  his  foremost 
legs.  And  Malone  was  serious  ;  he  even  looked  as 
though  he  meant  it  to  be  a  kindness.  Tears  smarted 
again  behind  Moira's  eyelids  ;  she  recovered  herself 
with  difficulty  as  she  haughtily  pointed  out  to 
Malone  that  she  considered  The  Star  extremely 
valuable. 

Malone  observed  drily  there  was  "  nothin'  like  one's 
own  opinions." 

"  She  is  fast,  well  bred,  beautifully  bred,"  clamoured 
Moira  angrily. 

"  Oh,  she's  that,"  said  the  horse-dealer ;  "  she's 
that.  Hasn't  she  ivery  bad  point  she  could  take  from 
the  racin'  side  of  her  ?  I'd  misdoubt  me,  but  this  half 
thoroughbred,  sure,  if  ye  handled  her  shins  rough,  ye 
could  break  them.  Faix,  keep  her,  miss ;  'twas  only 
kindness,  and  knowin'  a  felly  that  wanted  a  horse  for 
posthin'  with  me." 

Moira  left  him  examining  Gog,  and  advising  much 
medicine  and  less  hay.  It  was  Eva's  turn  now. 

They  were  out  to  lunch  next  day  with  fat  Mrs. 


200          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Haviland,  who  was  unshaken  in  her  kindness,  and 
came  back  early,  bringing  Major  Haviland  and  Captain 
Milton  with  them  to  play  bridge.  As  they  walked 
up  the  little  path  sounds  of  wailing  from  the  kitchen 
told  them  something  was  wrong.  Biddy's  voice, 
raised  to  a  high  pitch,  could  be  heard  in  heated 
argument,  the  lower  tones  of  James  Dunne,  and  the 
sharp  zip,  zip,  of  something  being  torn. 

The  drawing-room  was  cold,  devoid  of  fire,  and 
thick  with  dust.  The  bridge  tables  were  not  out ;  the 
breakfast  things  in  the  dining-room  were  still  upon 
the  table.  Mary  Kate  had  been  given  to  clearing 
them  away  when  fancy  touched  her  ;  but  she  had 
never  been  so  late  as  this. 

"  Something  has  happened."  Eva  pealed  at  the 
bell,  and  glanced  disconsolately  at  her  guests.  To 
make  matters  worse,  she  saw  a  carnage  on  the  road, 
and  recognised  Mrs.  Knox  coming  to  call.  Biddy, 
tears  in  her  eyes,  hurried  to  answer  the  bell. 

"  Oh,  I  said  it  all  along,  Miss  Eva ;  I  said  it. 
There's  me  poor  dead  sisther's  daughter's  bhoy  fair 
dementhed  outside,  and  Mary  Kate  off  to  Dublin  by 
the  one  thrain,  leaving  a  note  to  say  she's  away  to 
be  married  an'  to  sind  on  her  things.  An'  Patsy, 
the  craythur,  to  buy  her  a  little  traither  of  a  watch 
that  wasn't  as  big  as  me  thumb  top,  an'  to  spind 
fifty  shillin',  no  less,  on  a  muff  for  her  neck." 

Here  Milton  shook  audibly,  to  Biddy's  indignation. 

"  He  did  that  same,"  she  said  sharply,  "  a  yally 
fur  muff  she  put  about  her  throat.  An'  that" — she 
raised  her  finger  that  they  might  listen — "  that 
ye  hear  now  is  Patsy,  clane  crazy,  tearin'  up  her 
aperns ! " 


Theatergoing  201 

What  consolation  Patsy  derived  from  this  will  ever 
remain  a  mystery ;  but  as  Mrs.  Knox  clamoured  for 
entrance,  they  all  fled  to  the  kitchen  to  find  Patsy 
rending  viciously,  surrounded  by  a  pile  of  torn  white 
calico,  falling  in  ragged  strips  and  jagged  ends  as  he 
dragged  the  stuff  asunder. 

James  Dunne,  looking  on,  said  he  thought  it  must 
"aise"  him. 

Patsy  looked  at  the  rush  of  onlookers,  rent  one 
more  apron  in  twain,  scattered  the  scraps  of  the 
others  in  the  air  so  that  they  fell  upon  every  one, 
and,  with  a  sudden  gulp  of  anguish,  fled  to  the 
stables,  where  he  locked  himself  in  for  the  evening, 
and  answered  all  questions  by  asserting,  amid  his 
sobs,  that  he  had  done  with  "  the  wimmin." 

"  Maybe  he  thought  'twas  herself,"  said  James, 
removing  a  piece  of  calico  from  his  head.  "  Two 
shillin',  no  less,  she  must  have  paid  for  some  of 
thim." 

They  returned  to  find  Mrs.  Knox,  who  despaired 
of  an  answer,  laying  her  cards  upon  the  table.  She 
could  scarcely  have  gathered  a  good  impression  on 
this,  her  first  visit,  for  the  fire  would  not  light.  There 
were  no  hot  cakes  for  tea,  and  Biddy,  as  she  appeared, 
was  covered  with  ravelled  threads  of  torn  calico. 
But  a  recital  of  Patsy's  wrongs  atoned  for  many 
things.  Notwithstanding  the  tales  afloat  about  the 
Considines,  she  was  glad  she  had  come. 

Since  the  theatre  episode,  and  the  exposing  of  the 
perjured  Dennis  in  the  Ballydare  Moderator,  Mrs. 
Vereker's  bitter  tongue  had  spared  no  lash  of  innuendo 
which  could  hurt  the  newcomers.  To  have  her  son 
involved  in  a  disgraceful  brawl,  struck  upon  the  nose, 


2O2  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

rescued  by  his  own  steward,  described  as  a  gallant 
knight,  who  had  put  his  lady  behind  him  and  fought 
his  way  forth,  was  gall  to  his  proud  mother.  That 
he  had  lied  to  her  was  a  smaller  thing,  for  tyrants 
expect  untruths. 

Dennis's  life,  while  his  hurt  nose  faded  to  coats  of 
many  colours,  was  not  an  easy  one.  He  was  closely 
watched,  jealously  guarded,  almost  refused  leave  to 
go  out  without  his  mother  accompanying  him.  Mrs. 
Vereker  was  afraid  of  Eva's  pretty  face  ;  but  she  was 
a  power  in  the  county,  and  used  that  power  now  with 
purpose  and  with  weight 

Mrs.  Knox  had  heard  the  stories  and  braved  them. 
Bright  little  Moira  had  found  one  friend  who  meant 
to  be  kind  to  her — a  friend  who  recognised  that  lack 
of  worldly  wisdom,  and  no  deeper  folly,  had  led  the 
three  Considines  into  coming  to  Ballydare  and  getting 
themselves  talked  about.  Moira,  always  anxious  to 
prattle,  gave  a  sketch  of  their  idea  of  their  over-quiet 
life  at  Borrisdeane,  their  longing  to  hunt  and  see  the 
world. 

"  And  you  like  it  very  much — your  world  here  ?  " 
Mrs.  Knox  looked  at  Moira  with  quietly  inquiring 
eyes. 

"It  is — great  fun."  Moira  wished  the  look  had  not 
reminded  her  of  the  Hermit. 

"  Perhaps  too  much  fun."  Mrs.  Knox  asked  for 
her  carriage.  She  asked  them  out  to  luncheon  on 
Sunday,  and  meant  then  to  be  mother  to  the  mother- 
less, telling  them  how  they  erred  in  trying  to  see 
too  much  fun,  and  how  three  very  young  girls  must 
imperatively  provide  themselves  with  some  older  lady 
to  live  with  them. 


Theatre^going  203 

Biddy,  as  she  announced  the  carriage,  feared  the 
horse  must  be  perished,  for  Patsy  had  absolutely 
declined  to  open  the  stable  door. 

"  He's  sitting  in  The  Sthar's  box,"  said  Biddy  dis- 
consolately, "hopin'  she'll  kick  him  to  death.  But 
he  has  her  tied  up,  and  is  a  long  way  from  her  heels 
all  the  time." 

"There  is  hope  for  Patsy,"  said  Mrs.  Knox, 
going  out. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  HIRELINGS  AND  THE  GEOGHANS 

DONOUGH    MORONEY,    standing    gloomily 
among  his  hounds,  looked  up  as  the  Considines 
jogged  up  to  the  meet. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  said,  "  the  grey's  at  home.  That 
little  one's  pretty,"  he  added  to  himself.  He  swung 
himself  into  his  saddle  with  a  happy  expression,  and 
jogged  on  to  the  first  draw.  It  was  a  great  woodland, 
carpeted  with  dying  ochre-tinted  bracken,  the  under- 
growth all  a  tangle  with  bramble  vines,  their  leaves 
glowing  dully.  Wet  rides,  where  horses'  feet  sank 
squelching  into  an  ooze  of  mud,  led  through  the  wood. 
It  was  a  pretty  draw,  as  hounds  came  working 
through,  but  one  at  which  the  field  gathered  into 
groups  laughing,  talking,  without  much  hope  of  sport. 
Foxes  were  almost  too  plentiful  there.  There  was 
Tally  Ho  back  and  Tally  Ho  for'ard  ;  endless  chorus 
of  hounds ;  endless  gallops  from  end  to  end,  but  very 
little  chance  of  a  hunt.  Ambitious  spirits  galloped 
with  the  hounds,  shoving  through  lacing  twigs, 
bending  low  under  heavier  branches  ;  quieter  people 
gathered  about  the  main  earth  and  stood  there,  letting 
the  chase  circle  round  them.  Moira  and  Eva,  of 
course,  drove  the  hirelings  to  every  holloa  ;  Kathleen 

204 


The  Hirelings  and  the  Geoghans     205 

was  restrained  by  her  friend  Malone,  who  bade  her 
stand  with  him  by  the  burrow,  a.nd  then  when  the 
hounds  "  had  one  cot,"  they  would  go  on  to  a  good 
covert. 

As  they  galloped,  and  checked,  and  waited  in  the 
crowd,  the  chill  signs  of  unfriendliness  were  no  longer 
to  be  doubted.  The  Ballydare  people  were  clearly 
turning  polite  backs  upon  them.  When  Moira, 
wedged  in  a  gateway,  spoke  to  Mrs.  O'Brien,  who 
was  wedged  by  her,  that  usually  kindly  lady  answered, 
but  answered  in  the  abstracted  tones  of  one  who  does 
not  mean  to  continue  a  conversation.  Mrs.  Vereker's 
bow  would  have  made  ice  look  torrid,  and  the  Knoxes 
were  not  out  hunting,  for  they  had  been  summoned 
away  to  a  sick  daughter  ;  so  the  Considines'  one  friend 
was  gone.  Unwitting  of  offence,  there  seemed  to  be 
nothing  to  do  but  take  things  philosophically  ;  to 
laugh  and  talk  with  the  men  who  came  to  speak  to 
them,  and  try  to  ignore  the  coldness  about  them. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  custom  of  a  strange  hunt  to  treat 
newcomers  like  this.  Woman's  spiteful  nature  found 
some  slight  comfort  in  flaunting  up  and  down  rides 
with  Captain  Milton — his  humour  was  a  thrusting  one 
upon  the  flat — and  whisper  to  him  under  the  baleful 
glances  of  Miss  Nellie  O'Brien,  who  had  considered 
him  her  property  a  month  before.  It  was  something 
when  hounds  were  at  fault  to  have  an  admiring  circle 
about  you,  even  if  every  one  talked  a  little  loudly  and 
forgot  they  had  come  to  hunt.  Malone's  hirelings 
were  docile  and  well-mannered,  well  fed,  and  keen  to 
go  ;  they  were  charming  rides  after  the  eccentricities  of 
Gog  and  The  Star.  Yet,  had  they  known  it,  there  were 
many  of  the  Ballydare  people  who  found  it  difficult 


206          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

not  to  be  kind.  Eva's  gentle  face  was  a  winning 
one ;  there  was  no  look  of  the  barmaid  ancestry 
hinted  at  by  Mrs.  Vereker  in  her  quiet  bearing, 
and  if  Moira  talked  too  much  she  too  looked  like 
a  lady,  and  was  charmingly  pretty.  But  the  cruel 
poisoned  tongue  had  done  its  work.  There  was  no 
hope  of  hunting  in  Cloneen  wood.  So  Violet 
Vereker  rode  from  group  to  group,  commencing  to 
talk  about  some  trivial  thing,  and  ending  up  with 
the  Considines. 

"  These  little  adventuresses  come  husband-hunting  " 
— this  to  Mrs.  O'Brien,  who  had  three  daughters  and 
wanted  no  rivals — "sparing  no  pains  to  find  one, 
with  the  soldiers  there  all  day  and  half  the  night 
bridge-playing,  larking  ;  some  men  are  caught  by  that 
kind  of  thing.  The  sooner,  dear  Mrs.  O'Brien,  we 
show  them  they  will  be  wise  to  leave  Ballydare  the 
better.  They'll  soon  go  when  they  find  no  one  asks 
them  out." 

"There  is. that  Miss  Considine  making  such  a  row, 
but  one  cannot  marvel.  I  hear,  poor  things,  their 
mother  was  a  barmaid."  This  to  Lady  Keene,  who, 
having  been  an  actress  herself  in  her  younger  days, 
was  desperately  particular  as  to  the  blueness  of  her 
friends'  blood.  "  In  a  regular  brawl  the  other  night 
at  the  theatre,  down  at  that  Town  Hall  among  the 
roughs  in  ball  dresses  !  Can  you  imagine  it !  Covered 
with  sham  jewels,  no  doubt.  They  forced  my  poor 
Dennis  to  go  with  them,  and  he  got  injured  de- 
fending them.  You  won't  ask  them  out,  will  you, 
dear?" 

Then  going  from  girl  to  girl,  rallying  them 
pleasantly.  They  must  look  to  their  laurels  now. 


The  Hirelings  and  the  Geoghans     207 

Those  pretty  Miss  Considines  were  absorbing  all 
the  men.  No  one  seemed  able  to  resist  them  ;  the 
Ballydare  young  ladies  would  be  nowhere  at  any 
dances  this  year.  Until  every  girl,  tingling  wrath- 
fully,  determined  that  her  mother  should  ignore  these 
interlopers. 

Mrs.  Vereker  was  a  power  in  the  county ;  she 
would  drive  these  girls  from  it.  Sitting  up  straight 
in  her  saddle,  her  handsome  face  thickly  veiled, 
Mrs.  Vereker's  cold  eyes  were  often  upon  Moira. 
To  the  depth  of  a  resentful  nature  she  hated  the  girl, 
and  she  could  not  tell  why.  Some  blind  instinct, 
some  fury  of  jealousy  without  base  or  foundation, 
seemed  to  whip  her  on.  Eva  she  disliked  for  Dennis's 
sake,  feared  lest  a  weak  boy  should  escape  her  and  be 
tempted  into  a  foolish  entanglement ;  but  Moira's 
bright  face  stirred  every  evil  instinct  in  her  soul. 
And  Moira,  catching  the  grey  eyes  fixed  upon  her, 
often  wondered  on  her  part.  The  lost  note  in  her 
memory  had  not  been  found.  Where  had  she  seen 
the  perfect  features,  the  cold  beauty,  before?  Why, 
when  she  looked,  did  she  think  of  the  Hermit,  his  face 
set  in  sadness  ?  She,  too,  could  not  tell  what  made 
Mrs.  Vereker  so  interesting  to  her. 

This  cold-shouldering  of  the  county  had  another 
evil  effect.  Lesser  lights,  who  should  not  have  dared 
to  approach,  were  now  clamouring  for  friendship. 
Mrs.  Hartigan,  the  contractor's  wife,  had  called  the 
day  before,  Haunted  her  new  country  residence  before 
them,  and  bidden  them  to  tea  and  a  hidden-treasure 
contest.  Miss  Geoghan,  whose  seat  on  a  horse  went 
east  and  west,  while  her  tie  went  north  and  south,  had 
long  hoped  to  know  what  she  called  "  the  military." 


208          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

An  acquaintance  with  the  Considines  would  lead  her 
to  her  ambition.  So  she  sidled  up,  smiling,  tipping 
her  poor  galled  horse  with  a  cane,  and  promising  that 
"  me  mamma "  would  call  upon  the  morrow ;  while 
Cornelius,  her  brother,  was  now  quite  devoted  to 
Eva.  "  There's  lots  of  things  we  might  do,"  gushed 
Miss  Geoghan  sweetly.  "  We  play  bridge  at  home 
now,  though,  indeed,  mamma  is  apt  to  revoke,  and 
we  have  diabolo,  an'  we'd  be  delighted  to  see  you." 
Moira  accepted  the  kindness  with  reserve.  Inex- 
perienced as  she  was,  she  recognised  the  fact  that 
Miss  Clara  Geoghan  was  not  of  her  world. 

The  bustle  of  the  woodland  hunt  was  over  at  last, 
the  squelching  along  wet  roads  and  brushing  through 
tangle  of  lacing  boughs  came  to  an  end.  One  little 
cub  who  had  never  left  his  great  leafy  home  was 
hunted  down  and  killed.  They  jogged  away,  heads 
bobbing  at  the  hound  trot,  which,  slow  as  it  seems, 
eats  up  the  miles  so  quickly. 

"  Malone  says  this  is  Tulla  gorse,  and  we  are  sure  of 
a  hunt."  Kathleen  came  cantering  up,  little  Jim  Crow 
all  alert  and  wiry,  arching  his  neck  to  her  light  hand, 
using  himself  as  if  curbs  and  splints  and  knocks  and 
old  strains  were  merely  spurs  to  his  ambition.  "  He 
says  there  are  woeful  great  banks  " — Kathleen  pointed 
to  the  high  green  fences — "  but  you  can  put  these  two 
at  anything,  and  be  sure  of  getting  over."  Moira  rode 
the  black  which  favoured  its  foremost  legs.  Eva  was 
on  the  hasty  grey. 

The  gorse  was  on  a  hillside,  dark  patches  on  a 
swelling  green  slope  ;  light  sunshine  touched  it  as  they 
came  up,  turning  the  gorse  to  silvery  green,  making 
the  gorse  bushes  more  brilliant  in  their  dark-hued 


The  Hirelings  and  the  Geoghans     209 

Tulla  gorse.  It  was  here  old  James  had  come  to  and 
heard  the  jilted  man  ride  up  and  speak  hot  words  to 
Mrs.Vereker.  Had  she  quite  forgotten  it?  Moira  looked 
ahead  at  the  straight,  slender  back,  heard  the  hard, 
cold  voice  speaking  to  Dennis,  who  rode  beside  his 
mother.  Was  there  no  memory  of  that  old  day,  and 
the  young  fiery  heart  she  had  murdered?  Was  it 
Moira's  fancy,  or  did  she  see  the  strong  hands  tighten 
suddenly  on  the  reins  ?  Did  a  spasm  of  pain  contract 
the  handsome  face  as  it  was  raised  to  look  at  the 
covert  ?  Moira  was  riding  close. 

No  fancy :  twenty-two  years  had  not  dimmed  the 
bitterness  of  the  words  Mrs.  Vereker  had  heard 
then. 

"  We  shall  find  here,  I  think,"  she  said  to  her  son. 

"  Sure  to."  Dennis  turned  his  tinted  nose  round. 
"  Who  was  it  was  talking  to-day  of  the  great  run 
they  had  from  here  years  ago,  right  across  by  Knock, 
up  the  Dirk  hills,  and  killed  in  the  open  running  into 
Durris  ?  Four  finished,  and  some  fellow  was  nearly 
killed.  Twenty  years  ago  now." 

"Twenty-two.  The  year  I  married.  Yes,  I  remember 
the  run.  I  finished  it  one  of  the  four."  Mrs.  Vereker's 
complexion  seemed  borrowed  now  from  her  favourite 
marble  figures. 

"And  the  chap  who  was  hurt?  He  was  riding 
mad,  old  Knox  told  me,  at  wire  or  some  awful 
place." 

"  The  Castle  Crin  bounds  fence.  He  was  a  stranger 
here."  They  left  the  road,  and  horses  cantered  up  the 
field. 

Moira,  listening,  had  caught  the  ring  of  pain  in 
Mrs.  Vereker's  voice.  She  did  remember,  then. 


210          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Crash.  Hounds  dashed  in  to  covert,  gluttons  for 
blood,  no  scampers  of  their  work  ;  they  could  find  as 
well  as  drive. 

"  They're  at  him."  A  low  note  ran  its  thrill  of 
electricity  through  the  waiting  field.  Another  and 
another :  there  was  scent  in  the  long  patch  of 
gorse. 

"  Oh  !  look  at  him,  look."  Oblivious  of  the  Master's 
importance,  Kathleen  had  crept  close  to  Donough 
Moroney ;  her  fingers  in  her  excitement  suddenly 
gripped  his  elbow.  He  turned,  looking  into  the  eager, 
pretty  face,  his  own  very  thoughtful. 

"  Quiet — quiet,"  he  said,  and  smiled  quietly.  The 
fox  had  leapt  up  upon  the  bank  and  turned  back 
again. 

"  Quiet — quiet,  every  one,  stand  still.  Don't  say  a 
word."  A  daring  fox  who  meant  to  go  his  own  way, 
stepping  out  right  among  the  horses'  legs,  threading 
his  quick  way  among  the  crowd  until  he  reached  the 
bank  edging  the  field  they  stood  in,  and  whisked  over 
it.  Hounds  drove  out  on  his  brush,  making  the  echoes 
ring.  *  He  must  travel  now  to  save  his  life. 

"  One  moment.  Give  them  time."  Donough 
Moroney  held  the  field  back.  Then,  "  Come  along, 
little  lady,"  he  said,  turning  to  Kathleen.  And,  un- 
aware of  the  fact  that  he  never  spoke  to  a  woman  out 
hunting,  she  urged  Jim  Crow  in  his  tracks. 

The  black  hireling  might  favour  his  foremost  legs  ; 
the  grey  be  a  trifle  hasty ;  but  they  were  hunters, 
both  of  them  ;  it  was  Moira's  and  Eva's  first  expei  i- 
ence  of  riding  good  horses.  Moira's  heart  rose  as 
the  black,  without  flounder  or  check,  charged  lightly 
on  the  first  narrow  bank,  and  was  away ;  no  half 


The  Hirelings  and  the  Geoghans     211 

refusals,  no  mad  fly  landing  him  in  the  ditch  outside. 
Narrow  fences,  or  big  walls,  or  ditches,  he  was  good 
at  them  all.  Hounds  were  driving  ahead,  racing  each 
other  for  the  lead,  never  at  fault,  running  mute  now 
across  the  dry,  sound  pastures.  Their  point  was  a  little 
wood  some  four  miles  away,  a  wood  where  foxes  had 
beaten  them  before,  for  there  were  rabbit  holes,  which 
no  man  could  stop,  and  hounds  seemed  to  know  of. 
They  would  have  blood,  if  they  could,  before  they  got 
there.  It  was  not  a  long  hunt,  but  one  to  live  for,  across 
sound  land,  with  perfect,  sound  fences  to  be  jumped. 
The  wind  rushed  against  heated  faces,  the  good  horses 
strode  ahead,  unfaltering,  seeming  to  know  by  instinct 
where  to  put  their  feet,  even  where  the  still  leafy 
bramble  vines  laced  across  the  ditches.  Moira's  light 
weight  was  nothing  to  the  hireling.  He  carried  her 
well  to  the  front,  close  to  the  straining  pack,  until  her 
eyes  were  alight  with  the  joy  of  it  all.  A  little  to  the 
left  was  the  Master  riding  his  mare  hard,  and  close  to 
him,  pumped,  but  gallant  still,  little  Jim  Crow  carrying 
Kathleen. 

All  but  the  well-bred  ones  might  say  good-bye  to 
this  hunt ;  the  veriest  glutton  for  pace  must  have  been 
satisfied. 

There  was  a  minute's  welcome  check  as  cattle  foiled 
the  line,  only  a  minute,  but  it  sufficed  to  allow  some 
clever  people  who  knew  a  friendly  road,  and  had  ridden 
upon  it,  to  come  up — one  of  them  Captain  Milton, 
who,  it  appeared,  had  been  the  victim  of  shocking 
luck.  He  had  stopped  in  the  first  field  to  catch  a 
loose  horse,  and  been  obliged  then  to  race  hard  for 
his  place.  His  horse  was,  he  said,  a  marvel  to  have 
caught  them. 


212          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Old  Melody  had  it ;  they  had  not  lost  much  time. 

"And  the  Dunmore  bank  has  to  be  taken,"  said 
Moroney,  with  the  aspect  of  a  nurse  who  tempts  her 
charges  to  eat  pills.  "  It'll  settle  a  few  of  us  now, 
with  our  horses  dead-beat." 

The  bank  towered  before  them  high  and  narrow, 
thickly  grown  with  bush-grass,  and  with,  apparently — 
as  Dennis  Vereker,  taking  it  first,  disappeared  from 
sight — a  chasm  outside.  Moroney's  long-tailed  mare 
raced  at  it,  springing  up  easily  ;  flying  off  and  beside 
him  with  a  mighty  bound  came  the  redoubtable  Jim 
Crow.  "  He's  a  fizzer !  "  said  the  Master  quickly,  look- 
ing back.  "  An'  if  I  was  down  I  was  dead,"  he  added 
gloomily.  Dennis  Vereker  and  his  mother  were  over. 
Moira  dashed  down  at  it,  Milton  by  her  side.  "  Go 
first,"  she  said,  with  the  selfishness  of  the  novice  ; 
"  it  looks  rotten  there." 

Milton  looked  at  her  eager  face,  and  looked  longer 
at  the  towering  fence. 

"  I've  dropped  my  cigarette-case,"  he  said,  just  as 
the  black  hireling  sprang  upwards  gallantly,  gathered 
his  feet  on  the  narrow,  slippery  top,  and  jumped  out 
across  the  huge  ditch.  Moira,  looking  round  with  a 
gasp,  saw  no  more  of  Captain  Milton. 

Mrs.  Vereker's  big  bay  was  showing  signs  of 
distress,  falling  in  his  stride,  lathering ;  and  it  seemed 
fate  once  more  that  as  the  hounds  broke  from  scent 
to  view  with  a  sudden  mad  chorus  of  triumph, 
Malone's  black  hireling  should  stride  past  the  high- 
priced  weight-carrier,  beating  him  for  pace. 

The  sun  shone  out,  touching  the  world  to  gold. 
It  was  glory  for  all  save  the  poor  tired  fox,  straining 
his  failing  limbs  to  reach  the  haven  so  near  him. 


The  Hirelings  and  the  Geoghans     213 

Yet  the  end,  as  his  heart  seemed  bursting  and  his 
body  lead,  was  swift  and  merciful.  A  wave  of  pied 
death  closed  upon  him — one  last  brave  snarl,  an 
impotent  snap,  as  Melody  and  Merriment  closed 
upon  him,  then  a  little  tattered  brown  thing,  which 
had  raced  for  life  and  lost  it.  Men  flung  themselves 
from  panting  horses  ;  the  tail,  the  ever-happy  tail, 
which  is  content  to  gallop  in  each  other's  tracks  and 
never  see  a  hound,  came  straggling  up.  They  had 
avoided  the  well-known  bank,  getting  round  by  a 
longer  way. 

Milton,  swearing  at  his  cigarette-case,  appeared 
with  them.  Yet  in  quiet  tones,  away  from  the  others, 
he  described  to  Moira  how  his  horse  had  jumped  the 
mighty  fence  as  though  it  were  a  mere  stone-gap. 

"  She's  a  wonder,"  he  said,  patting  the  mare's  wet 
neck. 

Malone,  whose  youngster  had  put  him  down  three 
times,  appeared  at  this  moment.  His  hat  was  broken, 
he  was  plastered  with  mud,  and  absolutely  happy. 
"  The  four-year-old,"  he  declared,  "  was  worthy  of 
any  man." 

Milton,  getting  off,  was  unwise  enough  to  scoff  at 
the  muddy  coat  and  again  to  praise  his  own  brown 
mare.  It  so  happened  that  he  wanted  to  sell  her. 

Malone,  now  stroking  the  grey  four-year-old,  said, 
"  Surely  the  brown  was  a  grand  mare  entirely.  And, 
God's  providence,  she  has  thim  fine,  hard  feet  on 
her,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  looking  pensively  at 
the  road,  along  which  several  late  arrivals  were  still 
coming. 

Milton  assumed  the  hue  of  a  red  rose,  and  turned 
muttering  away. 


214          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  But — he  couldn't  help  being  late  ;  he  stopped  to 
catch  a  horse,"  said  Moira,  expostulating. 

"  'Twas  handy  for  him,"  said  Malone  dryly. 
"Mighty  handy." 

Miss  Clara  Geoghan,  appearing  coyly,  furthered 
her  hopes  of  friendship  by  saying,  "'Twas  a  grand 
hunt  altogether.  And  I  could  see  Moira  dashin" 
like  the  wind  ahead  of  them  all." 

Miss  Geoghan's  smiling  face  represented  the  heart 
of  a  beet  in  colour ;  her  tie  was  now  adjusted  at  the 
back  of  her  neck,  and  her  black  curls  fell  limply  across 
a  streaming  brow.  But  her  smile  was  never-ending  ; 
it  curved  her  lips  with  a  determination  more  wearing 
than  tears.  With  a  further  promise  as  to  "  me 
mamma's"  visit,  and  some  allusion  to  a  taste  of  a 
sore  back  the  little  horse  had  from  the  roller  in  his 
stable,  she  rode  off  homewards. 

"  An'  her  father  servin'  in  his  own  shop  five  years 
back,"  said  Malone  easily.  "  There's  changes  in  the 
times,  Miss  Moira,  since  me  own  mamma  was 
young." 

Eva,  whose  hasty  grey  had  not  proved  quite  fast 
enough,  was  talking  to  Dennis.  She  was  sheltered 
by  a  thorn  hedge,  and  Mrs.  Vereker  had  gone  out 
upon  the  road  to  seek  luncheon,  so  that  for  the 
moment  he  was  safe. 

Eva,  whose  mind  was  fully  innocent  of  anything 
except  kindness,  asked  him  to  come  and  see  them. 

Dennis  peered  round  the  thorn  hedge,  and  promised 
dubiously  for  Saturday.  The  pretty  face  drew  him  when 
he  was  with  it ;  his  fear  of  his  mother's  anger  cooled 
his  love  when  he  was  at  home.  Weak,  vacillating,  he 

scarcely  knew  which  way  he  wanted  to  choose  to  go. 

* 


The  Hirelings  and  the  Geoghans     215 

His  boy's  fancy  had  been  touched,  but  his  mother's 
will,  iron  and  dominant,  governed  him  more  completely 
than  any  light  love  he  could  feel. 

"  I'll  come  soon,"  he  said  uncertainly.  "  When  I 
can  get  away." 

Eva,  smiling  a  little  at  his  anxious  glances,  realised 
the  situation.  It  was  only  to  Moira  that  the  red- 
faced  boy  was  haloed  about  with  the  world's  riches 
and  the  splendour  of  his  country  home. 

"  I  am  afraid  your  nose  caused  you  some  trouble/'1 
she  said  with  a  smile. 

Dennis  stroked  the  tinted  feature  regretfully, 
thought  of  his  mother's  furious  entrance  to  his  room 
with  the  Ballydare  paper  in  her  hand,  and  said  it 
undoubtedly  had. 

"  We  ought  not  to  have  gone,"  he  burst  out  petu- 
lantly. "  It  was  ridiculous  of  us.  Just  a  place  for  the 
town  crowd.  Nice  joke  it  was  for  me  next  day, 
especially  as  I  told  my  mother  I  was  dining  at 
barracks." 

"  I  scarcely  see  the  necessity  for  that,"  said  Eva, 
quietly  contemptuous,  riding  out  to  join  the  now 
moving  crowd.  As  many  of  such  brilliant  beginnings, 
the  day  wound  to  a  disappointing  close.  It  clouded 
over,  a  thin  cold  rain  fell  steadily,  drifting  down  coat 
collars,  soaking  into  knees  and  elbows,  until  riders 
and  horses  were  chilled  and  depressed — -at  Crew- 
church,  the  next  draw,  a  ringing  fox  led  them  in 
ceaseless  circles,  until  the  fences  were  scarred  from 
pounding  hoofs,  and  broken  and  crumbled  into  slimy 
gaps — the  kind  of  evening  when  one  takes  a  really 
bad  fall  over  a  fence  you  have  jumped  safely  five 
times,  and  then  feel  a  fool  for  having  done  it. 


216          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

It  was  a  long  ride  back  to  Ballydare  when  all  was 
over ;  they  left  their  fox  in  the  darkness,  having 
beaten  them  by  his  cowardly  tactics.  They  were 
tired  from  the  morning's  good  gallop  ;  the  black  hire- 
ling moved  stiffly,  and  the  grey  was  a  little  lame. 
Perfect  as  the  horses  had  been,  the  three  guineas  to 
be  paid  for  them  now  gathered  to  a  mountainous  sum. 
Aunt  Martha's  legacy  was  melting  over  fast,  and  the 
great  return  they  had  expected  was  growing  dim  and 
nebulous.  The  sky  was  grey  and  dreary,  lines  of 
dark  hedges  looming  faintly  against  the  evening 
gloom. 

Two  girls  who  got  stiffly  from  their  horses  in  the 
yard  at  The  Beeches  were  depressed  and  unhappy,  and 
it  was  only  little  Kathleen  who  sang  as  she  went  in, 
trilling  in  a  tuneful  little  treble  one  verse  of  a  hunting 
song. 

"  There's  the  Master  in  boots,"  lilted  Kathleen,  until 
Moira,  who  felt  the  "  Dead  March  "  in  Saul  would  be 
far  more  to  her  mood,  grumpily  inquired  if  they 
thought  he  would  go  out  in  slippers,  and  also  that  it 
was  the  doctor,  and  so  stopped  the  song. 

James  Dunne,  who  had  found  something  else  to  do, 
was  plucking  plover  for  their  dinner,  raining  the 
feathers  down  into  a  sheeny  heap  of  grey  and  green, 
and  wondering  as  he  did  so  that  any  one  should  care 
to  eat  them  wild  birds,  when  they  could  get  a  good 
bit  of  bacon  for  the  money. 

"  There's  substhance  in  a  bit  of  mate,"  he  said 
reproachfully,  "  an'  ye'd  know  the  pig  is  afther  livin' 
on  good  male  an'  pyates  ;  but  thim  birds,  what  flesh 
is  on  thim  is  just  worrums  and  wather,  divil  a 
ha'porth  more." 


The  Hirelings  and  the  Geoghans     217 

The  remark  made  to  Moira  failed  to  improve  her 
appetite.  They  gathered  about  the  fire  after  dinner, 
as  they  had  done  on  the  night  of  their  arrival,  but 
without  the  high  hopes  which  had  fired  them  then. 

"  What " — Eva  poked  recklessly  at  the  blazing 
coals — "  what  if,  after  all,  it's  a  failure,  and  we  go 
back  to  Borrisdeane,  all  our  money  gone  ? "  Moira 
said  sharply  that,  even  if  the  money  was  gone,  many 
things  might  happen  before  the  winter  was  over,  her 
mind's  eye  travelling  as  she  spoke  to  Castle  Knock. 
"  When  The  Star  fattens  again,  I  shall  get  all  I  hoped 
to  for  her,"  she  asserted  stoutly,  "  and  so  will  you  for 
Gog,  Eva." 

"  When  his  legs  go  down,"  said  Eva  dolefully. 
"  It's  very  well  to  feel  hopeful,  Moira  ;  but  I  really 
believe  the  Hermit  was  right  after  all,  and  we  should 
have  stayed  quietly  at  Borrisdeane." 

"  Oh,  bother  the  Hermit,"  stormed  Moira,  and  went 
to  bed. 

The  day's  hunt  unfortunately  bore  fruit  in  the 
arrival  next  day  of  Mrs.  and  the  Misses  Geoghan, 
driving  an  old  brown  horse  in  what  they  called  the 
"  phayeeton." 

The  two  young  women,  the  second  a  buxom  maiden 
of  some  twenty-two  years,  who  was  called  Baby  Julia 
and  wore  her  hair  down  her  back  in  a  fat  and  be- 
ribboned  pigtail,  were  even  fuzzier  as  to  fringes  and 
ties  than  they  were  out  hunting. 

They  introduced  "  me  mamma  "  effusively,  but  with 
a  visible  desire  to  repress  that  lady  from  all  speech. 
They  admired  everything  they  saw,  and  kept  restless 
eyes  upon  the  window  for  the  arrival  of  the  officers 
they  desired  to  meet, 


218          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Now,  the  Considines  lacked  the  experience  to  snub 
these  unwelcome  visitors.  With  no  absolute  certainty 
of  the  Geoghans'  social  standing,  they  did  not  like  to 
be  unkind  to  any  one  in  a  new  county.  Perhaps 
people  here  were  different ;  so  they  accepted  the  gush 
and  praise  as  a  welcome  change  from  the  iciness  of 
Mrs.  Vereker,  and  were  even  led  into  a  promise  of 
visiting  Bracken  Hall  on  the  following  Friday  for  a 
little  party  of  tea  and  games. 

Baby  Julia  announced  proudly  that  they  played 
bridge.  She  had  won  threepence  last  Wednesday 
week.  Also  diabolo .  Here  she  stopped  sud- 
denly. 

Then  the  visitors  suddenly  grew  cheerier,  and 
settled  down  for  the  afternoon.  Captain  Milton 
and  Mr.  Cromartin  were  announced.  Now  at  last 
they  could  meet  and  invite  the  military. 

"  And  diabolo,"  went  on  Miss  Baby  Julia,  after 
they  had  inclined  their  touzled  heads  to  the  intro- 
duction. "  Did  y'  ever  play  it  now,  Captain  ?  The 
queer  kind  of  game  it  is.  The  spool  was  like  to 
whip  the  nose  from  me  lasht  Sunday.  Miss  Clara 
said  'twas  the  price  of  me  for  missin'  Mass." 

Moira  and  Eva  found  themselves  talking  to  "me 
mamma,"  who  was  exceedingly  timid  and  only  dis- 
cursive, for  some  hidden  reason,  on  the  subject  of 
turkeys  and  the  respective  merits  of  single  and 
double  breasts  ;  while  Clara  and  Baby  Julia  plunged 
in  the  joys  of  ardent  flirtation,  ets  expressed  by  ex- 
pressive eyes,  giggles,  tosses  of  touzled  heads,  and 
many  "Now,  Captain,  d'ye  say  so?  Ah,  go  on  with 
your  nonsense  now,  turning  Baby's  head,"  and  so 
forth. 


The  Hirelings  and  the  Geoghans     219 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  drawing  out  of  the 
Miss  Geoghans  was  entirely  to  Milton's  taste.  A 
nicer  man  would  have  let  them  alone  ;  he  proposed 
lo  make  the  mess  roar  that  night  as  he  described 
them.  They  ate  their  tea  coyly,  with  crooked  little 
fingers  and  a  lavish  use  of  pocket-handkerchiefs  on 
their  laps. 

"The  grease'd  destroy  you,"  Baby  Julia  remarked 
as  she  engaged  on  a  hot  cake. 

An  invitation  for  Friday  was  accepted  by  Milton 
and  declined  by  Cromartin,  who  had  come  to  talk 
over  the  hunt  and  not  flirt  with  the  Geoghans.  His 
mental  resolve  was  not  to  come  again  if  he  met  these 
people. 

The  Geoghan  girls  waxed  discursive  and  far  too 
lively.  Miss  Clara  was  embalmed  in  alluring  giggles, 
and  tried  to  wrest  Baby  Julia's  conquest  from  her, 
which,  that  young  lady  resenting,  there  was  very 
nearly  a  distinct  quarrel  when  it  came  to  "  the 
captain  "  helping  them  on  with  their  cloaks  ;  Miss 
Clara  finally  succeeding,  by  right  of  age,  in  receiving 
his  aid.  Baby  Julia,  huffily  getting  into  hers  alone, 
retaliated  by  sweetly  saying,  "  She'd  have  to  hunt 
alone  next  meet,  for  Clara"  (she  pronounced  it 
"  Claara ")  "  had  the  withers  worn  out  of  the  grey 
marc.  The  poor  animal'd  bow  to  the  ground  with 
the  pain  if  you  lay  a  hand  on  her,"  said  Baby  Julia 
plaintively,  and  avoiding  her  sister's  baleful  eye. 
"  Isn't  Claara  misfortunate,  Captain,  the  way  she  sits 
skew  ways  on  a  horse  ? " 

Eva  looked  thoughtful  when  the  visitors  had  all 
left. 

"  Surely  we  ought  not  to  know  those  people,"  she 


22o          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

said.  "They  are  very  impossible,  even  if  other 
people  will  have  none  of  us." 

"  They  talk  of  a  big  place  ;  they've  got  horses,  and 
hunt.  I  suppose  they  are  all  right,"  said  Moira 
dubiously ;  "  one  cannot  be  uncivil  to  people  in  a 
strange  place." 

"  And  there  is  that  red-headed  brother  who  haunts 
me,"  said  Eva ;  "  if  we  go  there  it  will  be  worse.  Oh, 
I  wish  the  Hermit  was  here  ;  he  would  know." 

"  It's  always  the  Hermit,"  said  Moira  crossly,  and 
going  away. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A  GAY  AFTERNOON 

THE  Dare,  running  smoothly  and  decorously 
through  the  little  town  of  Ballydare,  breaks 
to  a  riot  of  beauty  just  below  it,  swirls  past  wooded 
banks,  over  mossy  rocks,  round  little  islands.  The 
Considines,  having  done  a  morning's  shopping,  walked 
on  by  the  well-worn  path  and  sat  down  at  last,  lost 
in  watching  the  river.  November  as  it  was,  leaves 
still  clothed  many  of  the  trees  ;  leaves  afire  with 
autumn's  glory.  The  river  seemed  to  run  on  end- 
lessly to  the  grey  skies  ;  smooth  flow  of  deep  green  in 
the  shadows,  with  just  a  dimple  of  movement  on  its 
surface,  until  suddenly  the  jutting  rocks  churned  it 
into  foam  ;  then  a  roar  of  troubled  waters,  a  froth  of 
white  and  translucent  brown,  all  among  the  slabs  of 
stone,  until  again  it  broadened  to  a  wide  lake  of  silver- 
grey  and  green  and  brown,  stately  now,  gliding 
proudly,  with  an  island,  leaf-jewelled,  set  in  its  midst. 
There  were  no  floods  as  yet ;  the  rocks  were  to  be 
seen,  russet  brown,  deepening  to  dull  red  if  a  gleam 
of  sun  touched  them,  spotted  with  green  where  the 
stones  had  stayed  dry  through  the  summer.  And 
always  the  murmur,  the  endless  whisper  of  the  waters, 

221 


222  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

as  they  passed,  as  human  lives  slipping  to  the  sea  of 
eternity.  Sunshine,  and  the  river  woke  to  it,  flung 
out  its  limbs  to  the  golden  ringer,  rippled  joyously, 
its  foam  white  as  wool ;  then  the  sky  would  darken, 
the  wind  come  chilly  with  a  moan  of  rain  in  its 
breath,  and  the  river,  ever  changeful,  melted  to  cold 
tints,  till  the  white  foam  leapt,  bitter  white,  against 
the  grey-black  of  the  water. 

Eva — the  early  winter  day  was  warm  as  summer 
in  the  shelter  of  the  trees — sat  with  her  face  on  her 
hand,  her  thoughts  far  away.  Moira's  were  nearer 
home. 

Nothing  was  as  it  should  be.  No  part  of  this  trip 
had  turned  out  as  she  had  hoped.  The  Star  had 
come  out  again,  but  sickness  had  not  broken  her 
spirits ;  she  had  flown  her  banks  and  fallen  into 
ditches  with  as  much  resolution  as  ever.  Then, 
growing  a  little  blown,  had  refused  resolutely,  and  all 
but  brained  a  friendly  countryman  who  came  to  beat 
her  over. 

"If  I  was  a  foot  nearer  I'd  be  a  dead  corpse 
walking  home  this  night,"  he  said  with  some 
asperity.  "Ye'd  see  the  white  ov  her  eye  comin' 
round  to  measure  the  distance,  an'  then  she  let  out 
for  me  head.  Wait  a  while  now  till  I  gets  to  me 
cyart." 

He  retreated  to  the  road  for  his  whip,  and  The 
Star  tasted  the  bitter  fruits  of  retaliation,  practised 
by  an  enemy  who  could  keep  out  of  striking  distance. 
With  a  scream  of  rage  she  jumped  at  last,  but  this 
kind  of  thing  did  not  keep  one  in  a  run.  Moira, 
getting  out  on  to  a  road,  saw  the  hunt  sweep  over 
a  hill  two  miles  away.  The  Star  was  scarred  by 


A  Gay  Afternoon  223 

the  lash,  and  in  a  furious  temper.  She  reared  at 
the  next  cross-roads,  declining  to  follow  a  track 
which  would  have  led  her  near  the  hounds.  With 
a  certainty,  cold  as  ice  and  clear  as  crystal,  Moira 
realised  that  her  purchase  would  never  make  a 
hunter.  As  for  Gog,  one  could  always  see  him  at 
least  two  fields  behind  every  one  else,  pounding 
away  steadily. 

This  failure  resulted  in  another  day's  hiring,  and 
consequently  a  further  payment  of  three  guineas  to 
the  smiling  Malone.  The  Star  again  suffered  from 
neurasthenia,  and  utterly  declined  food. 

Patsy,  now  a  pronounced  misanthrope,  said  she  was 
as  bad  as  a  woman  to  manage,  and  spent  his  days 
proffering  her  cunning  mixtures  of  bran  and  flaxseed 
tea  and  crushed  oats,  which  she  generally  upset  all 
over  him. 

Horses  were  not  all ;  there  was  the  social  point  of 
view.  The  Geoghans  were  very  easy  to  get  to  know 
and  very  difficult  to  get  rid  of.  The  Considines' 
house  at  tea-time  meant  that  they  would  meet  the 
military,  so,  Baby  Julia  and  Miss  Clara — never  called 
Miss  Geoghan,  because  there  was  an  elder  sister, 
now  in  a  convent — ran  in  at  all  hours.  Now  they 
came  with  books,  now  with  messages  from  mamma  ; 
and  neither  Eva  nor  Moira  was  strong-minded  enough 
to  send  them  away. 

Mrs.  Haviland's  kindness  was  not  proof  against 
constant  meeting  of  Geoghans.  She  ceased  coming 
so  often  ;  the  nicer  men,  too,  stayed  away,  and 
only  the  younger  ones  who  liked  to  lark  with 
Clara  and  Baby  Julia  filled  the  little  drawing- 
room. 


224  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Moira  " — Eva  raised  her  head  and  pulled  out  a 
cheque  and  account-book — "  how  much  money  do 
you  think  we've  spent  ?  " 

"  The  Star,  and  Gog,  and  Jim  Crow  " — Moira  cal- 
culated rapidly — "  and  the  rent.  I  suppose  over  two 
hundred  pounds,  Eva." 

"  Nearer  five,"  said  Eva  quietly ;  "  over  four, 
certainly.  I  can't  keep  it  down.  The  horses  seem 
to  swallow  hay  and  straw  and  oats  wholesale  ;  for 
Patsy  says  what  The  Star  doesn't  eat  she  spills  ;  and 
there  was  the  rent  and  saddles  and  clothes  and 
practically  new  stables.  Aunt  Maria's  legacy 
will  barely  see  us  through  the  winter,  Moira,  and 
then.  .  .  .  And  then  if  the  horses  are  not  sold, 
well — a  return  to  Borrisdeane,  plus  our  new  saddles, 
habits,  and  many  new  dresses,  and  minus  an 
income  of  thirty  pounds,  which  would  have  done 
much  to  keep  us.  It  is  really  appalling."  Eva 
put  away  her  books.  "  Money  just  flies  here.  I 
paid  ten  pounds  to  Callaghan,  the  grocer,  to- 
day. I  paid  fifteen  for  forage.  Oh,  Moira,  why 
didn't  we  listen  to  the  Hermit,  and  why  isn't  he 
here  ?  " 

"  He'd  just  croak  all  day,"  said  Moira  gruffly. 
Then  her  ever-hopeful  fancy  leapt  to  the  sunshine  of 
the  future.  Was  Eva  blind  not  to  see  that  all  would 
have  been  well  spent  if  she  and  Dennis  Vereker  were 
married  ?  They  could  stay  with  her  every  winter ; 
hunt  from  there.  Eva  would  be  so  rich,  she  could 
help  them. 

"You  never  look  at  the  bright  side,"  said  Moira 
buoyantly.  "  Wait  until  I  get  The  Star  fat  ;  wait 
until ."  She  nodded  a  wise  head.  "  We  must 


A  Gay  Afternoon  225 

succeed.  I'm  not  going  back  to  Borrisdeane  to  have 
the  Hermit  triumphing  at  me." 

"  He  won't  be  there,"  said  Eva.  "  Biddy  heard  last 
night.  The  Hermit  is  going  away." 

"  Oh-h,"  said  Moira  slowly. 

He  had  said  so  himself,  but  Moira  had  scarcely 
believed  it.  The  river  seemed  to  grow  colder,  to 
menace  her  with  grim,  black  waters.  No  Hermit  to 
quarrel  with.  The  old  white  house  shut  up  ;  the 
woods  perhaps  preserved  by  some  strangers.  The 
boom  of  the  heavy  sea  sounded  in  her  ears,  she  could 
smell  the  salt  wind,  and  the  peat,  and  heather  ;  see 
the  dim  looming  hills  which  they  had  passed  by  to 
gain  the  world.  And  they  called  to  her — these 
things.  The  waters  of  the  lake  had  never  menaced 
her  there.  There  were  no  fears  about  money  in 
those  old  peaceful  days.  Aunt  Maria  provided,  and 
they  were  clothed  and  fed.  There  were  always 
chickens,  and  eggs,  and  milk,  and  they  seemed  to 
want  but  little  more. 

Moira  sighed  deeply  ;  even  her  buoyant  tem- 
perament was  not  proof  against  these  thoughts. 
Then,  feeling  thus,  she  grew  angry  and  burst 
into  one  of  her  old  day-dreams — of  all  it  was  to 
see  life,  and  what  they  would  make  of  the  horses, 
and  countless  other  things  which  she  knew  not  to 
be  true. 

"  I  wonder " — Eva  got  up,  for  it  was  time  to  go 
home — "  I  wonder,  Moira,  if  the  Geoghans,  and 
Captain  Milton,  and  all  the  row  we  make  are  quite 
life.  I  often  wonder." 

Moira  stumped  off  with  her  pretty  nose  in  the  air. 
"  Don't  forget  there  are  people  coming  for  bridge," 

15 


226  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

she  said.  "  Have  you  ordered  sardines  for  sand- 
wiches, and  soda  water,  and  whisky,  and  every- 
thing ?  " 

Eva  observed  somewhat  peevishly  that  she  had 
done  so.  Also  that  they  owed  Captain  Milton 
fifteen  shillings,  and  she  must  cash  a  small  cheque 
and  not  forget  to  pay  him. 

On  their  way  back  through  the  town  they  met 
Dennis  Vereker.  He  was  alone,  and  immediately 
suggested  walking  back  with  them.  Moira's  spirits 
flew  to  fever  point.  She  raced  to  the  butcher's  for 
chops,  and  fled  home  first,  moving  Biddy  to  extreme 
anger  by  her  demand  for  cutlets  and  sweets  at  a 
moment's  notice. 

"  There  was  a  bit  of  cold  turkey,"  she  said. 
"  That  should  have  been  enough  for  ye  all.  I 
declare,  I  might  as  well  be  cook  for  a  regiment." 
Here  she  directed  James  Dunne,  who,  needless  to 
say,  had  turned  up  for  his  dinner,  to  beat  eggs 
and  boil  milk,  and  wished,  with  all  the  fervour  of 
her  lonely  old  soul,  that  they  were  back  again  at 
Borrisdeane. 

"  I'd  rather  have  the  old  missus  scold  in'  me,"  she 
said,  as  she  bustled,  "  than  all  the  fine  things  I  have 
to  do  here." 

The  party  at  the  Geoghans'  had  fallen  through, 
been  adjourned  to  that  afternoon.  Baby  Julia  wished 
to  make  a  finer  affair  of  it  than  they  had  intended 
to  at  first,  and  they  dressed  with  the  faintly  bitter 
knowledge  that  it  was,  so  far,  the  only  entertain- 
ment they  had  put  on  their  plumes  and  silken 
skirts  for. 

The    roan  horse   had   to   be  hired,  for  one   could 


A  Gay  Afternoon  227 

not  walk  through  the  mud,  and  he  elected  to- 
day to  stop  but  once,  choosing  the  chance  to 
upset  an  unsuspecting  fat  woman  going  home  from 
market,  who  vanished  backwards  over  a  low  bank, 
screaming  to  the  Virgin  with  all  the  strength  of 
her  lungs. 

Bracken  Hall  did  not  lack  pretension.  It  was  a 
big,  square  house,  painted  a  lively  red,  with  a  great 
stucco  porch  disfiguring  it,  a  species  of  white  spot  of 
eczema  on  an  over-coloured  face.  Greenhouses  had 
been  put  on  off  the  drawing-room,  safely  excluding 
all  fresh  air,  and  admitting  a  soothing  reek  of  wet 
mould  and  steam.  There  never  seemed  to  be  any 
flowers.  Baby  Julia  told  them  the  gardener  was 
always  after  the  horses,  which  perhaps  was  the 
reason. 

Milton  and  Cromartin  had  promised  to  meet 
them.  They  were  asked  into  a  wide  hall,  chiefly 
adorned  with  moth-eaten  pieces  of  foxes,  and 
hung  with  oleographs,  and,  having  had  their 
names  blared  forth  by  the  maid,  who,  in  her 
haste,  had  forgotten  to  remove  some  of  her  leaden 
hair-curlers,  they  came  upon  a  motley  gathering 
of  finely  dressed  young  women,  and  straggling 
youths  with  bright  ties,  who  hailed  from  various 
offices. 

Tea  was  magnificent.  Baby  Julia  and  Clara  had 
studied  papers  for  the  week.  They  had  read  that 
sandwiches  were  smart  ;  and  there  were  piles  of  them, 
thick  and  solid,  beef  and  chicken  and  ham,  with 
smears  of  mustard  and  chutney.  Milton  took  one, 
and  said,  "  My  God  "  to  himself  several  times.  There 
was  tea  and  champagne — Papa  Geoghan  did  not 


228          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

lack  money — and  gaudily  iced  cakes,  very  fine  without 
and  dry  within. 

Baby  was  a  vision  in  pale  green  silk,  and  open- 
work stockings  which  did  not  match.  Clara  was  in 
blue.  Their  moment  of  triumph  dawned  when  they 
saw  the  two  soldiers  come  in. 

There  was  a  game  after  tea — hidden  treasure — 
when  one  took  ends  of  long  threads  and  un- 
en tangled  them  hurriedly  to  gain  a  prize  for  the 
first  completed — very  fine  prizes  :  a  silver  box 
and  a  cigarette  case.  Much  ingenuity  had  marked 
the  winding  of  those  threads.  They  were  tied 
round  banisters,  and  under  rugs,  about  chairs ;  and 
one  scrambled,  and  unwove,  and  collided  with 
fellow-strugglers,  sometimes  on  one's  knees  and 
sometimes  standing.  Milton  was  paired  with  Clara; 
Cornelius,  wonderfully  clad  in  green  flannels,  with 
a  gentle  line  of  red  in  the  pattern,  of  course 
took  Eva,  and  was  not  pleased  when,  declining 
all  dual  searchings,  she  merely  directed  while  he 
worked,  his  admiring  remarks  being  curbed  by 
the  necessity  of  grovelling  on  his  knees  for  his 
thread.  Moira  received  a  limp  youth,  who  was 
quite  devoid  of  enterprise,  and  said,  "  D'ye  think 
so  now  ?  My,  my,  isn't  it  troublesome  ? "  as  they 
came  to  each  tangle.  He  was  hot  and  tired  when 
Moira  had  finished  with  him.  It  was  a  game 
which  elicited  many  squeaks,  and  "  Give  over  nows," 
and  "  Have  dones,"  from  the  finely  dressed  young 
women. 

Miss  Clara  seemed  unable  to  find  out  anything 
unless  she  poked  her  tangled  head  very  close  to 
Milton's.  Her  squeaks  of  "  Captain,  here  now.  Come 


A  Gay  Afternoon  229 

on,  Captain,  we  have  it,"  could  be  heard  above  all  the 
other  ones. 

Their  string,  a  long  one,  seemed  singularly  easy 
to  unravel ;  so  much  so,  that  they  were  miles  ahead 
of  every  one,  when  Baby  Julia,  appearing  radiantly 
with  Cromartin  behind  her,  proudly  held  out  the 
little  knot  which  announced  they  had  reached  the 
end. 

"  We  have  it  won,"  she  said,  smiling. 

Miss  Clara,  on  her  knees  by  the  curtain,  arose  in 
sudden  wrath — she  was  just  winding  in  her  knot  of 
red  thread. 

"  I  declare  to  heavens  you  broke  it,  Baby  Julia," 
she  declared  furiously  as  she  rose  ;  and  Baby  Julia 
said  nothing.  But  the  light  of  triumph  in  her  eyes 
was  not  a  holy  one.  Their  announcement  that  all 
the  others  must  try  on,  as  they  themselves  would 
not  take  the  ladies'  prize,  kept  the  room  busy. 
Tempers  grew  thin  in  the  scramble,  and  the  fine 
young  women  grew  less  fine  as  they  toiled  for 
victory. 

"  That's  me  string,  Miss  Casey,  if  you  please.  'Tis 
unfair,  I  tell  you.  I  had  me  hand  on  the  chair  as 
you  pulled  it  from  me.  Ah !  Oh,  hurry,  Mr.  Quin, 
what  use  are  you  at  all  ?  " 

Moira  had  so  terrified  her  limp  youth  that  his 
eyes  seemed  possessed  of  second  sight ;  they  were 
an  easy  third,  and  she  received  the  silver  box  as 
her  reward. 

More  champagne  and  sandwiches  were  necessary 
after  this,  flanked  this  time  by  the  appearance  of 
papa  himself  with  a  steaming  bowl  of  punch,  which 
he  pressed  upon  his  guests. 


230          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  The  only  thing  for  the  stomach,"  he  said  genially, 
"  after  champagne." 

Papa  would  take  no  refusal ;  he  selected  the  two 
soldiers  as  special  recipients  of  his  hospitality, 
until  Milton's  nose  warmed  to  a  fiery  hue,  and  his 
tales  of  prowess  with  hound  and  gun  grew  with 
each  sip. 

Baby  Julia,  the  light  of  triumph  still  gleaming  in 
her  eyes,  appeared  at  Moira's  side.  She  affected 
a  girlish  friendship,  and  squeezed  Moira's  arm 
playfully. 

"  Have  a  drop  of  punch,  now,"  she  said.  "  Do,  my 
dear  Miss  Considine.  Wasn't  it  fun?"  she  added. 
"  Wasn't  Clara  fit  to  be  tied  ?  You  see,  she  had  it 
all  settled  for  herself  and  the  captain  to  win  ;  for  the 
red  string  wasn't  tied  anywhere,  only  wound  about  a 
while.  But  I  was  up  to  her,  and  I  sent  Mr.  Cromartin 
away  for  a  candle,  pretending  I  couldn't  see  one 
place,  and  I  whipped  out  me  scissors  and  cut  the 
whole  thing,  and  told  him  then  I'd  got  the  end  found. 
Clara  won't  come  over  me  so  easy,"  s*aid  the  Baby, 
tossing  her  tangled  head,  and  sipping  punch. 
"  Aren't  they  lovely  men,  the  military  ? "  she  added 
in  a  whisper,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  Milton,  who,  rapidly 
melting  to  a  backboneless  benevolence,  and  taking 
more  punch  to  reduce  it,  was  now  informing  Miss 
Clara,  papa,  and  a  circle  of  young  ladies,  how,  when 
hunting  in  Leicestershire,  he  had  crossed  a  river  in 
flood,  his  horse  changing  on  a  coal  barge  in  the 
centre,  and  left  the  whole  field  behind.  Even  the 
hounds,  it  would  appear,  had  crossed  by  a  bridge. 

Cromartin,  with  anxious  eyes,  was  endeavouring  to 
remove  his  senior  officer. 


A  Gay  Afternoon  231 

It  was  time  for  all  to  say  good-bye.  Surrounded 
by  loving  Geoghans,  who  invited  themselves  to 
tea,  and  made  many  arrangements  for  unbroken 
friendship,  the  Considines  were  at  last  allowed  to 
depart 

At  their  last  sight  of  Captain  Milton,  they  observed 
that  he  had  got  papa  by  both  hands,  and  was  pressing 
him  to  dine  at  mess  next  day — every  day — hospitality 
was  not  confined  to  Irishmen. 

"Yes,  he  must  come — immediately,  and  he'd  tell 
him  about  a  hunt." 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  come  away,"  said  Cromartin, 
wheeling  his  captain  round  and  piloting  him  to  the 
fresh  air,  where  he  sat  upon  the  steps  of  a  carriage, 
and  groaned  because  the  sandwiches  had  disagreed 
with  him. 

"  The  punch  disagreed  with  you,"  said  Cromartin, 
with  bitterness,  as  papa,  speeding  the  parting  guest, 
withdrew  his  bald  pate,  and  remarked  that  the  English 
hadn't  the  heads  of  feathers.  "  A  few  glasses  of 
champagne,  and  a  few  spoons  of  good  punch,"  said 
papa  indignantly.  "  I  declare  I'd  only  be  getting 
thirsty  on  that  same,  and  the  captain  is  outside  with 
the  place  wheeling  round  him." 

Moira  and  Eva  fled  hurriedly,  their  first  ideas  of 
offering  sympathy  being  cut  short  by  Cromartin's 
last  terse  remark. 

"  It — it  must  have  been  the  sandwiches,"  said 
Moira,  as  they  got  on  to  the  car  ;  and  the  roan  horse 
ran  backwards  with  praiseworthy  energy.  Having 
taken  several  chips  out  of  the  stucco  porch,  he 
elected  to  start  at  a  gallop,  striking  the  carriage 
which  Milton  still  sat  on  with  a  jar  which  brought 


232  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

that  gentleman  to  his  sulky  feet,  still  denouncing 
the  sandwiches. 

"  Bad,"  he  said  unevenly,  "  raw  ham.  Ptomaine 
poisoning.  See  doctor." 

"  Punch  poisoning,"  said  Cromartin,  with  emphasis. 
"  There  was  a  bottle  of  Chartreuse  in  it,  and  another 
of  brandy.  I  saw  him  put  them  in." 

No  one  felt  very  well  after  the  Geoghans' 
party. 

The  constant  need  for  the  roan  horse  inspired 
James  Dunne  with  the  idea  that  it  would  not  be 
a  bad  thing  for  his  young  ladies  to  have  one  of  their 
own.  He  could,  he  thought,  easily  convert  a  tumble- 
down shed  into  another  stable,  and  a  friend  of  his  had 
a  black  five-year  old  which  would  be  the  very  thing. 
The  details  of  trap  and  harness  did  not  trouble  him. 
He  made  his  suggestion  the  morning  after  the 
Geoghans'  party,  and  it  was  backed  up  ten  minutes 
later  by  the  arrival  of  a  black  horse,  driven  in  a 
yellow  dogcart  which  had  forgotten  what  paint 
looked  like. 

Eva's  protests  as  to  not  wanting  a  trapper  were 
drowned  for  a  time. 

"  The  grandest  sthepper  he  is,  as  gentle  as  a  lamb." 
Dundon,  the  owner,  drove  the  black  about  the  little 
lawn  with  loose  reins  and  a  trusting  air.  "  Ye  might 
be  lookin'  Ireland  for  his  like  in  harness.  I  did  but 
plough  and  car  him,  but  whin  James  here  tould  me, 
I  was  away  next  morning  to  me  uncle's  first  cousin, 
that  I  knew  had  a  fine  thrap.  An'  then,  Denny 
O'Hagan  bein'  dead,  it  just  suited,  for  we  wint  off  to 
the  funeral,  an'  while  the  corpse  was  waitin'  in  the 
chapel,  meself  an"  a  couple  of  fellows  dhruv  up  an' 


A  Gay  Afternoon  233 

down  the  road  to  see  if  the  horse  would  be  fit  for 
a  lady." 

Even  this  burst  of  eloquence  was  in  vain.  Eva 
could  not  see  her  way  to  more  purchases  of  horse- 
flesh. Moreover,  even  her  unsuspicious  eyes  saw 
marks  upon  its  knees,  and  doubted  the  soundness 
of  a  hind  leg  ;  she  was  more  sceptical  than  when 
she  purchased  the  mighty  Gog. 

James  Dunne,  on  observing  her  disfavour,  veered 
with  the  swiftness  of  a  weathercock,  rested  a  suddenly 
keen  vision  on  several  defects,  and  whispered  advice 
concerning  the  advisability  of  sticking  to  the  roan 
hireling. 

"  Sure,  afther  all,  if  he  did  hurt  ye,  he's  not 
yer  own,"  said  James  wisely.  "  Ye  wouldn't  have 
to  sell  him  aftherwards,  an'  that's  a  great  matther." 
He  engaged  in  a  whispered  conversation  with 
Dundon,  in  which  it  is  to  be  feared  that  his  wish  to 
please  made  him  cast  many  aspersions  on  the  lack 
of  judgment  possessed  by  young  ladies.  A  "glass" 
was  offered,  and  swallowed  with  unwinking  and 
unwatered  joy  by  the  black's  owner,  and  Eva  went 
back  to  the  fire. 

Biddy,  laden  with  coal,  was  making  it  up,  and 
grumbling  at  the  cost.  "  Ye'd  want  a  well  o'  gould 
down  here,  Miss  Eva,"  said  the  old  woman  unhappily. 
"  Tisn't  at  all  like  Borrisdeane ;  an'  there's  not  one  of 
ye  enjoying  yerselves  but  little  Miss  Kathleen.  I  saw 
her  yesterday  evenin'  walking  up  the  street  with  the 
dogs'  masther,  as  happy  as  ye  plaze — an'  a  quare  little 
atom  of  a  man  he  is,  too."  Biddy,  with  grimy  black 
fingers,  reft  a  letter  from  the  bosom  of  her  shawl. 
"  Misther  Tremayne's  gone,"  she  said.  "  I  had  a 


234          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

letter  this  mornin' ;  James  read  it  to  me."  This 
suggested  that  James  was  again  a  visitor  for  dinner, 
and  had  possibly  come  to  breakfast.  "  He's  away 
from  Borrisdeane,  Miss  Eva ;  left  there  three  days 
ago — he  and  his  man — and  no  one  knows  whin 
he'll  be  back.  Vo !  Vo  !  'tis  bad  times,"  said  Biddy  . 
sadly ;  "  an'  old  Strawberry  goin'  to  have  her  calf 
in  February,  too !  Oh !  Miss  Eva,  if  I  could  be 
back  to  milk  her.  That  was  milk  there  ;  not  the 
stuff  ye  gets  here.  Oh !  Miss  Eva,  if  we  could  but 
go  home." 

"  I  imagine,"  said  Eva  grimly,  "  that  we  shall  go 
there  soon,  Biddy,  riding  the  horses  because  we  can't 
afford  to  pay  for  the  tickets." 

"  Glory  be  to  God,"  said  Biddy.  "  Ye  wouldn't  get 
me  upon  one,  Miss  Eva." 

A  visit  from  Captain  Milton  and  Baby  Geoghan 
filled  up  the  afternoon.  Miss  Clara  was  out  at  a 
party. 

"  Fairly  mad  she  is,  my  dear,"  babbled  Baby  Julia, 
with  innocent  joy.  "  She  had  her  mind  made  up, 
Captain,  for  you  to  win  the  case,  went  down  an'  bought 
it,  and  asked  the  price  of  initials,  no  less  ;  and  indeed, 
I  got  behind  you  over  it  when  she  wouldn't  let  me 
and  you  hunt  together." 

Here  Baby  Julia's  smile  was  wide  enough  to  have 
swallowed  a  whole  continent  of  hearts,  and  the  rattle 
of  jewellery  was  as  the  clinking  of  curb-chains  at  a 
meet. 

"  You  were  off  too  early,"  added  the  Baby.  "  We 
had  the  rugs  up,  and  set  a  tune  on  the  musical-box 
and  danced  till  eleven.  Oh  !  'twas  great  fun  alto- 
gether. Signs  by,  'twasn't  all  as  we'd  like,  for 


A  Gay  Afternoon  235 

Maggie  Dayly  reddened  Denny  Quin's  face  with 
the  smack  she  gave  him  when  he  kissed  her  on  the 
stairs  ;  and  he  came  to  papa,  near  to  agony.  When 
you'd  go  as  far  as  that,  you  might  let  clouting 
alone,"  said  Julia  philosophically,  her  beaming  eyes 
on  Milton. 

That  gentleman,  rather  depressed  by  his  over- 
enjoyment  of  punch,  had  come  to  suggest  taking 
Moira  down  to  a  meet  of  the  Cloneen  staghounds 
next  day.  They  would  go  and  come  back  by  train, 
and  he  would  lend  her  a  horse.  Villiers  and 
Cromartin  were  going,  possibly  the  Havilands.  It 
would  be  great  fun,  and  a  ride  over  a  glorious 
country. 

"  And  lots  of  it  on  the  road,"  said  Baby  Julia 
irrelevantly,  but  the  tail  of  her  beaming  eye  dwelt 
on  Milton.  "  I  went  once,  and  we  pasted  the  roads 

all  day.     I   wore  the  hoof  off  papa's  grey  colt 

and,  oh,  papa " — her  tongue  was  irrepressible — 
"papa  hopes  he  didn't  knock  the  head  off  you 
with  the  punch,  Captain.  It's  a  way  he  has  of 
making  it  strong,  if  you  wouldn't  be  used  to  it. 
Jimmy  Mack  said  you  were  sitting  on  the  carriage 
steps." 

With  extreme  stiffness  and  a  high  colour,  Captain 
Milton  remarked  that  the  sandwiches  had  disagreed 
with  him  and  made  him  giddy.  He  was  still, 
he  said,;  quite  afraid  that  something  had  been 
wrong. 

"  Not  a  blessed  thing,"  said  the  Baby,  too  young  to 
see  how  she  had  put  her  foot  in  it.  "  The  meat  was 
from  Donovan's,  and  he  only  kills  papa's  and  Lord 
Clargrainey's." 


236          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Milton  thought  that  a  man  may  desire  to  murder  a 
buxom  young  woman  with  touzled  hair  and  inviting 
eyes.  He  took  tea  with  offended  dignity,  and  devoted 
himself  to  Moira,  talking  of  the  morrow.  Bluebeard, 
his  horse,  would  carry  her  splendidly  ;  they  would 
have  a  great  day.  Moira  was  carried  away  by  the 
idea,  and  oblivious  of  the  effect  which  Baby  Julia 
had  upon  Mrs.  Haviland  when  she  came  to  call 
once  again. 

The  fat  lady  froze  to  a  social  iceberg,  beaten 
about  on  all  sides  by  the  steel-proof  prow  of 
Baby  Julia's  desire  for  friendship,  as  that  young 
person,  perceiving  nothing  wrong,  invited  the  major's 
wife  to  tea,  declared  she  and  mamma  would  call ; 
and,  finally,  nearly  drove  poor  Mrs.  Haviland 
crazy  by  waiting  upon  her  assiduously  when  tea 
commenced. 

The  new  parlourmaid,  it  appeared,  was  a  friend 
of  Baby's,  and  was  hailed  by  a  pleasant  "  How 
are  you,  Mary  ?  "  when  the  brass  tray  was 
carried  in. 

"  We  had  that  one  once,"  said  Julia,  as  she 
dispensed  the  Considines'  hospitality  for  them  ; 
"  but  she  did  papa's  evening  shoes  with  black 
lead,  and  gave  him  sauce  when  he  ate  the 
face  off  her,  so  she  had  to  go.  A  nice  sort 
of  a  girl,  too.  She  can  cut  the  cards  finely." 
Baby  plied  Mrs.  Haviland  with  hot  cakes  and 
bread-and-butter,  and  said,  "  My,  but  for  a  stout 
woman  you  eat  nothing ! "  when  her  overtures  were 
declined. 

"  Isn't  it  funny,  that  eating  ? "  she  said.  "  I 
could  do  wkh  a  goose,  an'  there's  no  flesh  on 


A  Gay  Afternoon  237 

me  ;  an'  there's  Claara,  that  only  pecks,  draggin' 
her  stays  harder  every  week  not  to  let  on  that  she's 
getting  stouter.  I  declare  you'd  hear  them  groaning 
often." 

Mrs.  Haviland  rose,  visibly  disgusted. 

"  Some  day,  when  you  are  alone,  my  dear,"  she 
said  to  Eva,  who  pressed  her  to  come  soon.  "  I 
am  busy  at  present.  To-morrow  the  Verekers  give 
their  afternoon,  and  Thursday  the  Illoyds ;  Friday's 
a  hunt,  and  the  Butlers'  dinner  and  dance.  It's 
quite  gay." 

Quite  gay !  and  the  girls  who  had  come  so  far  for 
gaiety  were  not  bidden  to  anything.  Eva  grew  pink 
as  she  listened ;  Moira  bit  her  lip.  These  were  the 
things  they  had  hoped  for — the  little  back  stream 
of  life  which  ran  at  Ballydare — and  it  was  denied 
to  them.  Pretty  dresses,  plumed  hats,  languished  in 
their  cardboard  prisons — so  far,  only  put  on  once 
or  twice. 

"  They  don't  ask  us,"  she  said  with  a  wry  little 
smile.  "  Mrs.  Vereker  doesn't  like  us  ;  I  don't  know 
why." 

Mrs.  Haviland  looked  eloquently  at  Baby  Julia. 
She  was  too  mild  and  kind  a  woman  to  say  what 
was  in  her  mind.  She  looked  also  at  Eva's  semi- 
theatrical  dress  and  elaborately  tired  hair,  at  the 
haze  of  smoke,  the  decanters  and  glasses  brought 
in  after  tea,  to  save  Milton  the  trouble  of  help- 
ing himself  in  the  dining-room,  and  her  lips  grew 
tighter. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Vereker  was  right,  and  the  girls  were 
fast  and  foolish  by  design — a  mere  bevy  of  little 
adventuresses,  come  down  to  seek  for  a  husband  from 


238  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

the   Midshire  Regiment.     It  must,  after  all,  be  her 
last  visit. 

"  I   could  come   in   on   a  Sunday,  if  you  weren't 
busy,"  said  Eva. 

Mrs.  Haviland  regretted — coldly  now — but  she 
would  be  out. 

Eva's  pink  cheeks  faded  to  white  ones.  She 
knew  Mrs.  Haviland  was  never  out  on  Sundays, 
and  she  had  often  gone  in  there  to  escape 
from  the  racket  in  the  little  drawing-room  at 
The  Beeches.  Moira  was  determined  to  accept 
merriment  as  life,  if  she  could  have  nothing  else 
Noise  passed  for  smartness  to  an  unsophisticated 
mind. 

As  Mrs.  Haviland  left  Dennis  Vereker  appeared, 
and  stayed  for  a  short  time.  He  was  on  his  way 
home  from  hunting.  Dennis  was  clearly  depressed  ; 
he  stared  at  Eva  in  a  puzzled  way,  and  stroked 
his  red  face  with  his  hands  as  he  did  so.  Some 
glimmering  of  the  right  to  decide  for  himself 
which  should  have  been  his  was  evidently  troubling 
him. 

Moira,  very  pretty  in  brilliant  yellow,  with  a  string 
of  Aunt  Maria's  seed  pearls  about  her  round  throat, 
grumbled  in  undertones  to  Milton. 

"  It's  his  mother,"  she  said,  nodding  at  Dennis. 
"  From  the  day  we  let  out  her  prize  sheep  she  has 
disliked  us.  I  don't  know  why  people  don't  ask  us 
to  all  their  parties." 

"  Oh,  because  you're  such  good  fun  and  good  sorts, 
and  so  jolly,"  said  Milton  easily.  "  These  old  fossils 
at  Ballydare  don't  understand  your  being  plucky 
enough  to  come  and  live  here  alone." 


A  Gay  Afternoon  239 

His  round  pale  blue  eyes  repressed  the  fact 
that  he,  Lancelot  Milton,  approved  of  it,  and 
therefore  that  it  was  all  right,  and  she  need  not 
worry. 

"Plucky  of  you,  I  call  it,"  he  said  ;  "getting  away 
from  that  wretched  hole  in  Kerry.  Of  course,  the 
old  cats  don't  approve  of  you.  You're  all  a  hang  sight 
too  pretty,  for  one  thing." 

Moira  eyed  him  doubtfully.  She  could  not 
imagine  the  Hermit  telling  her  that  she  was  a 
"hang  sight  too  pretty"  in  that  tone.  It  was  a 
voice  which  implied  good  fellowship  of  so  easy 
a  class  that  Moira  wrinkled  her  brows  and  longed 
for  worldly  wisdom. 

"  I  don't  see  how  any  one  could  object  to 
our  living  here — three  sisters,"  she  said  a  little 
stiffly.  "  Even  Miss  Butler  said  we  could.  I  really 
often  wish,"  she  went  on  petulantly,  "that  we 
had  taken  the  Hermit's  advice  and  never  left 
Borrisdeane." 

"  Oh,  but  look  at  the  fun  you've  had,"  said  Milton, 
rising  and  patting  his  tie  before  the  narrow  glass 
above  the  fireplace. 

"  Yes,  look  at  it,"  said  Moira,  without  enthusiasm, 
her  eyes  upon  a  muff  which  Baby  Julia  had  left 
behind  her. 

"  And  the  people  you've  met,"  said  Milton, 
carefully  adjusting  a  tiny  curl  which  he  per- 
mitted himself  just  at  one  side  of  his  parted 
hair.  His  increasing  baldness  was  a  sad  trial  to 
him,  and  he  spent  a  large  sum  upon  lotions  for 
the  hair. 

"  And  the  people  we've  met,"  repeated  Moira,  with 


240          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

still  less  enthusiasm,  as  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
meet  his. 

"To-morrow,  then,"  said  Milton.  "10.25.  It  will 
be  great  fun.  Don't  cut  my  horse's  back,  like 
a  good  girl."  He  went  off  absolutely  satisfied 
that  the  wide  world  held  no  man  whose  acquaint- 
ance was  a  greater  boon  than  that  of  Lancelot 
Milton. 

"  Only  kind  to  be  nice  to  "em,"  he  said  to 
Vereker,  as  he  was  given  a  lift  back  to  barracks. 
"  Real  jolly  little  things,  with  no  silly  nonsense 
about  'em." 

A  sudden  access  of  irritability  made  Dennis 
wish  he  could  deposit  his  fellow  traveller  in  the 
mud. 

Kathleen — who  had  to  leave  her  horse  at  Malone's 
and  drive  with  the  redoubtable  roan — came  back  late. 
She  was  full  of  the  run,  and  carried  a  draggled  piece 
of  fur  in  her  hand. 

"  I  got  the  brush,"  she  announced.  "  Look !  I'll 
have  it  mounted.  Wasn't  Mr.  Moroney  good  ?  He 
said  it  was  no  damn  use  to  any  one,  and  perhaps  I 
might  like  it" 

"  That  seemed  kind,"  said  Eva  drily. 

"  We  ran  ever  so  far,"  prattled  Kathleen. 
"  Not  very  fast ;  and  Malone's  grey  was  splendid. 
He  never  made  a  mistake.  There  was  a  huge 
piece  of  timber ;  and  there  were  some  banks — 
oh  !  high  as  houses  ;  and  once  "  —  Kathleen 
looked  doubtful — "  I  was  following  Mr.  Moroney, 
and  he  fell,  and  I'm  afraid — I'm  afraid  I  gave 
him  a  teeny,  weeny  push,  and  knocked  him  over. 
It  was  all  his  stupid  horse's  fault,  pausing  on 


A  Gay  Afternoon  241 

the  bank.  I  —  I  cleared  him  in  the  ditch,"  said 
Kathleen. 

"And  what  did  he  say?"  declaimed  Moira,  filled 
with  horror. 

"  He  said — as  he  got  up — he  said  we  were  a  won- 
derful family,"  said  Kathleen  thoughtfully. 


16 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OF  DEER-HUNTING   AND    THE   HERMIT 

IRELAND  smiled  on  the  day  Moira  Considine 
went  deer-hunting.  It  was  one  of  the  country's 
moods  of  defiance,  when,  laughing  softly,  she  declines 
to  accept  winter  as  her  master.  "  I'll  be  summer 
when  I  choose,"  she  says,  and  turns  the  sky  to  blue, 
the  sun  to  warm  gold  ;  spreads  a  silver  web  of 
gossamer  from  flower  stalk  to  flower  stalk  ;  mocks  at 
the  fallen  leaves,  all  brown  upon  the  earth,  and  stirs 
them  with  a  wooing  breath  of  sweet  west  wind.  Buds, 
not  dead  from  nipping  frosts,  bloom  into  untimely  life, 
the  primroses  thrust  up  pale  noses  of  yellow  without 
fear  of  the  cold,  which  must  come  upon  them.  Even 
the  ground,  a  maze  with  the  spider  threads,  seems 
warm.  Winter,  worsted  for  a  day  or  two,  lurks  grimly 
in  the  shadows,  putting  out  chill  fingers  to  touch  the 
mortals  who  strayed  into  them,  raising  sudden  little 
whirls  of  cold  airs,  as  if  in  reply  to  the  blaze  of 
defiant  sunshine  outside — a  day  on  which  spirits 
rose,  despite  themselves,  on  which  even  misanthropes 
must  be  glad  to  be  alive,  and  on  which  young  blood 
turned  to  quicksilver,  and  made  young  feet  dance 
in  their  joy. 

As  Moira  drove  to  the  station,  even  the  roan  horse 
242 


Of  Deer^Hunting  and  the  Hermit     243 

seemed  to  feel  it,  for  he  stepped  out  freely,  champing 
at  his  bit,  and  got  them  to  the  train  twenty  minutes 
too  early,  as  he  had  failed  to  avail  himself  of  the 
quarter  of  an  hour  allowed  for  stoppages. 

"  Will  I  carry  him  to  the  6.40,  miss,  to  meet  ye  ?  " 
demanded  James  Dunne's  friend,  whose  name  was 
Tom  Riordan. 

"  You  will,  Tom,"  said  Moira  cheerily,  removing 
her  bag  from  the  car. 

"  I'm  takin'  a  friend  to  a  funeral,"  said  Tom  thought- 
fully, "  and  if  God  sind  he  doesn't  sthop  too  often  on  the 
road  I'll  surely  be  here.  I'll  dhrive  up  for  Miss  Eva,  for 
she  said  she'd  like  to  meet  ye.  'Tis  Martin  Dennehys 
that's  dead,"  he  explained  further,  "  a  dacent  man  that 
has  berried  three  wives,  an1  that  often  took  a  dhrive 
with  meself,  so  I  can't  be  afther  missin'  it.  An'  I 
declare  corpses  upsot  this  divil,"  he  added  ruefully. 
"  I  had  five  shillin'  to  take  fat  Micky  Dundon  to  bury 
his  a'nt  lasht  week,  an'  didn't  the  scheemer  of  a  horse 
wheel  into  the  hearse  itself,  an'  kick  the  coffin  out  of 
the  min's  hands  as  cliver  as  any  Christian  could  ? 
Good  sphort  to  ye,  miss.  Ye'll  have  a  crowd  on  the 
thrain." 

It  was  evident  that  they  would.  Smiling  damsels 
with  gaudy  head-gear  and  many-hued  dresses  were 
arriving  in  scores,  a  sprinkling  of  lumpy  young  men 
in  ready-made  shoddy  suits  and  dirty  collars  amongst 
them.  There  were  older  women  with  baskets,  older 
men  smoking  solemnly,  a  goodly  array  of  priests,  all 
evidently  bent  upon  some  trip.  It  was  an  excursion 
to  Dublin  at  some  very  low  rate,  and  a  huge  crowd 
swayed  at  the  ticket  office,  good-humouredly  striving 
for  tickets. 


244  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

^* 

Milton,  Stanley,  and  Cromartin  turned  up  rather 
late,  the  Havilands  were  evidently  not  coming,  and 
Moira,  who  knew  nothing  of  training  horses,  found 
she  had  to  pay  fifteen  shillings,  a  sum  which  she  had 
to  borrow. 

As  they  walked  towards  the  train,  they  had  to 
fight  their  way  through  the  crowd.  Carriages  were 
crammed,  no  distinction  of  class  being  observed  ; 
and  to  Milton's  lively  horror,  they  found  themselves 
overwhelmed  by  a  wedding  party,  who  thrust  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  into  an  already  overcrowded 
carriage.  The  Englishman's  sharp  expostulations 
were  received  with  a  carelessness  which  maddened 
him  ;  the  head  porter  bade  him  "  be  aisy  "  with  friendly 
patronage  ;  the  ticket  collector,  further  appealed  to, 
inquired  sarcastically  if  he'd"wish  to  lave  dacent  people 
on  the  platform,"  and  he  was  finally  hushed  to  a 
furious  silence  by  his  subaltern,  who  was  enjoying  it 
immensely. 

"  Good-bye,  Johanna.  Good  luck.  Good-bye, 
Peter."  A  score  of  dirty  hands  at  the  window,  and 
the  bridegroom,  to  support  himself,  wound  an 
appealing  arm  about  Milton's  neck,  knocking  off  that 
worthy  officer's  hat. 

"  No  offence,  sir,"  he  said  pleasantly,  bumping 
back.  "No  offence." 

Johanna,  the  bride,  was  a  maiden  of  many  summers, 
decorously  dressed  in  black,  enlivened  by  pink  roses 
in  her  hat,  and  further  adorned  by  black  kid  gloves, 
with  fingers  about  an  inch  too  long. 

"  Sit  down,  Peter.  Ye'll  be  upsot,"  she  said,  without 
emotion. 

Peter  wiped  his  face  with  a  large  cotton  bandana. 


Of  Deer-Hunting  and  the  Hermit     245 

His  collar  was  evidently  a  week-old  friend,  his  hands 
had  not  seen  water  for  days,  he  was  years  younger 
than  the  bride ;  a  man  with  a  pleasantly  kind  face. 

Fears  of  open  amorousness  troubled  Cromartin,  as 
he  glanced  at  Moira. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Peter.  "  I  wonder,  will  he  give 
me  the  calf  for  four  pound  tin,  Johanna  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  say,"  said  the  bride  thoughtfully. 

Peter  leant  forward  ;  he  was  happily  and  soberly 
drunk. 

"  Jo'  Dineen,"  he  said,  "  is  a  dacent  by — though  he 
had  liquor  taken  to-day.  All  yer  people  is  dacent, 
Johanna." 

The  bride  thanked  him  placidly. 

"  Ye  see  we  were  married  this  mornin',"  said  Peter, 
turning  a  smiling  face  upon  Moira  and  Cromartin, 
who  looked  sympathetic.  "  An'  we  have  to  shift  for 
ourselves  now ;  'tis  the  way  of  the  world.  I  came 
over  yesterday,"  he  explained,  "and  I'm  taking  her 
home  to  Tullabram.  Tis  a  long  journey  whin  ye 
wouldn't  be  used  to  ways  of  the  line." 

Here  he  found  he  had  no  ticket,  and  was  much 
perturbed. 

"  I  came  over  by  cyar,"  he  said  ;  "  and  a  chaper  way, 
too.  Isn't  it  one  an'  a  pinny  ache  now  to  Tullabram  ? 
But  there's  a  calf  and  two  pigs  back  in  the  cyart,  so 
Johanna  was  anxious  to  come  this  way.  Weren't  ye, 
Johanna  ?  " 

Johanna,  the  unemotional,  said  "  Yes." 

"  We  only  met  yestherday,"  observed  Peter,  pulling 
a  bottle  from  his  pocket,  "  but,  faix,  we're  well  satis- 
fied." He  pinched  one  of  the  kid-gloved  hands, 
which  Johanna  withdrew  coyly.  She  also  refused 


246          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

his  offer  of  some  whisky,  though  Peter  assured  her 
there  was  "  nothin'  like  a  dhrop  of  dhrink  to  make  the 
journey  jump." 

The  raw  and  fiery  spirit  increased  his  affability  ; 
he  beamed  upon  them  all,  and  held  his  fellow- 
travellers  by  his  eloquence.  All  save  Milton,  who 
sat  as  an  offended  god,  his  whole  face  expressing 
acute  disgust. 

"Saw  her  but  yestherday,  and  all  as  pleasant  as 
ye'd  plaze,"  said  Peter,  wiping  his  mouth.  "  Faix,  we 
sat  up  till  one,  an'  divil  such  a  pleasant  party  ever  ye 
saw.  Not  so  much  as  a  lie  passed  for  the  evenin'. 
Better  luck  I  had  than  me  cousin  Mickey  Hennessy. 
They  med  up  a  match  for  him  with  a  giril  at  Rath- 
dreen,  all  as  nice  as  ye'd  wish,  with  a  cow  and  three 
geese  and  twinty  pound  in  dhry  money  to  come  to 
him  ;  and  Mickey's  a  warm  by  himself,  with  a  tidy 
bit  of  land.  Well,  he  missed  the  thrain  the  night 
before,  an'  was  only  there  jusht  in  time  to  sthart  for 
chapel.  Rose  Cassidy  she  was,  an'  ould  Cassidy,  her 
father,  was  just  sittin'  her  above  on  a  fine  side-cyar 
when  Mickey  turned  up.  An'  a  fine  giril  she  was ; 
a  bit  thin,  Mickey  said,  but  nate  an'  gintale,  with  a 
yally  fur  around  her  neck. 

" '  I  thought  ye'd  be  here  now,'  says  old  Cassidy, 
says  he.  '  Jesht  in  time,  for  Father  M  alone  'ill 
be  waitin'.  I'll  introduce  ye  to  the  others  afther,' 
says  he,  '  but  let  ye  sit  up  with  Rose  now,'  says  he, 
'on  the  other  fall  of  the  cyar.1  Well,  with  that 
Mickey  lights  up,  '  An'  'tis  a  fine  day,'  says  he  ;  the 
signs  by  he  tould  me  afther  'twas  rainin'.  '  I  reckon 
'tis,'  says  she,  with  a  twisht  from  Amerikee  on  her 
tongue.  Well,  Mickey  takes  a  look  on  that,  an'  he 


Of  Deer-Hunting  and  the  Hermit     247 

passed  another  remark,  sayin'  '  He  was  sorry  he 
was  late.' 

" '  I  calkerlate  it's  all  the  same,'  says  she,  very 
pleasant  ;  and  with  that  Mickey  never  says  another 
word  till  they  were  foreninst  the  chapel  gate  ;  then 
he  gits  down  and  walks  round  to  where  the  ould  man 
was  tyin'  the  reins  to  the  gate. 

"  '  Misther  Cassidy,'  says  Mickey,  says  he,  '  ye  nivir 
towld  me  yere  dather  was  a  say  rambler,  and  I  won't 
marry  her,'  says  he.  An'  what's  more  he  didn't, 
though  they  nearly  bate  him  there  an'  thin,  and 
he  had  to  pay  fifty  pound  whin  the  case  was  brought 
up.  '  But  'twas  bether,'  he  said,  '  than  a  foreigner  for 
a  wife ' ;  an'  that's  the  way  it  was  betune  thim." 

Moira  and  the  others,  excepting,  of  course,  Captain 
Milton,  laughed  merrily.  Peter  took  another  drink 
with  a  pleased  expression,  and  looked  at  his  wife 
contentedly. 

The  train  was  a  slow  one,  stopping  at  every  station 
and  gathering  a  fresh  crowd  of  excursionists  to  its 
already  over-full  bosom  at  each  pause.  Agitated 
cries  rose  from  the  platforms. 

"  Get  in,  Mrs.  Hennessy.  Ma'am,  nivir  mind  the 
room.  Patsy,  Patsy  ;  have  ye  the  tickets  ?  Glory 
be  to  God  above,  Maria  is  left  behind  on  us.  Jump 
in,  let  ye.  Delia,  run  to  the  ass  car  for  me  puce 
scharf ;  I  left  it  afther  me."  And  so  on,  until  the 
train  lost  patience  with  them,  and  puffed  on  its  way. 

Peter  and  his  bride  alighted  at  Shaneen,  the  station 
for  their  home,  bidding  every  one  a  somewhat 
sheepish  good-bye.  Fresh  people  rushed  in  to  take 
their  places,  until  Milton's  presence  between  two 
fat  women  was  a  mere  suggestion  crowned  by  a 


248  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

pot-hat,  while  across  him  they  talked  volubly.  Moira, 
as  the  lady,  had  been  left  some  small  space. 

"  Ballytubbert,  thank  God  !  "  ejaculated  Captain 
Milton,  shaking  the  two  old  ladies  as  he  plunged 
to  his  feet,  and  rudely  interrupting  the  narrative 
of  a  cow  which  would  not  fatten. 

Getting  out  was  a  difficulty,  owing  to  the  swarms 
of  people  who  wanted  to  get  in,  and  it  fell,  of  course, 
to  Milton's  part  to  be  pushed  back  and  urged  to  keep 
his  place,  at  least  twice,  and  further  that  he  should 
emerge  at  last  with  the  beads  belonging  to  one  of  his 
fat  neighbours  wound  about  the  buttons  of  his  over- 
coat. The  frantic  shrieks  of  the  old  lady  were  all  but 
drowned  in  the  bustle,  and  the  train  was  moving 
before  a  heated  porter  rescued  the  rosary,  reproving 
Milton  as  he  did  so  for  so  basely  removing  holy  beads 
which  carried  two  precious  relics  on  them. 

"  She  was  near  to  a  fit,"  observed  the  porter,  as  the 
train  disappeared. 

"  Will  I  unbox  the  horses  for  ye,  sir  ?  "  he  said  as 
he  returned. 

"  Now,  mind — we've  got  ten  miles  to  ride,  and 
the  last  train  leaves  at  six,"  said  Cromartin.  "  So, 
if  we  lose  each  other,  make  for  this  place.  If  we 
miss  that  train,  there  is  no  other  until  two  in  the 
morning." 

They  rode  out  into  a  wild  green  country,  fenced 
almost  entirely  by  big  clean  banks.  Houses  were 
few  on  the  rolling  slopes  of  the  hills  ;  it  was  a  grazing 
country,  with  rich  pastures,  lonely  on  its  wild  fields. 
Nothing  here  to  stop  hounds  or  horses  ;  but  a  hunter 
must  be  bold  and  free  to  face  those  yawning  ditches : 
a  coward  were  better  at  home.  The  narrow  road 


Of  DeerxHunting  and  the  Hermit     249 

wound  along  the  slope  of  a  hill,  then  dipped  to  a 
flat  tableland — miles  of  flat  fields  and  perfect  fences, 
with  hints  of  boggy  drains  among  them. 

"  One  could  be  lost  here  and  never  found  again. 
See,  there  is  not  a  house  for  miles."  Moira  pointed 
to  the  expanse  of  low  ground.  "  How  desolate  it  all 
is,  and  yet  how  splendid  !  " 

"  They  run  for  hours  at  times,  I  believe ;  leave 
every  one  standing  still,"  said  Cromartin.  "  It  takes 
a  racehorse  to  live  with  them.  See,  that  is  the  meet." 
They  were  coming  to  a  little  village  on  the  brow  of  a 
hill  ;  twenty  or  thirty  thatched  cabins,  squalid  and 
poor,  clinging  to  the  slope  ;  one  or  two  half-empty 
shops,  three  public-houses.  A  crowd  of  men,  whose 
time  did  not  appear  to  be  valuable,  were  gathered 
to  watch  the  sport. 

The  deer-van  was  drawn  up  on  the  road  near  the 
meet  ;  the  hounds  were  already  there.  No  white- 
and-lemon  and  black-spotted  foxhounds,  but  black 
and  tan,  with  dewlaps  like  bloodhounds.  There  were 
only  a  few  people  at  the  meet;  most  of  them 
mounted  on  blood-horses :  nothing  without  breeding 
could  live  with  the  Knockgreena  Staghounds. 
They  were  to  enlarge  into  a  big  field  just  beyond 
the  village,  a  slope  with  a  giant  rock  jutting  high 
in  the  middle.  Woods  clustered  to  the  west ;  below 
and  to  the  south  stretched  the  green  of  the  pasture- 
land,  unbroken  by  a  scar  of  tillage. 

They  gathered  by  the  rock,  watching  the  enlarge- 
ment. The  deer  jumped  out  of  his  van,  looked  about 
him,  and  then  cantered  off  with  his  curious  lopping 
gait;  the  bank  and  ditch  which  he  seemed  to  skip 
over  proved  to  be  a  formidable  obstacle  when  they 


250  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

came  to  it  afterwards.  Then  he  stood  for  a  little, 
nodded  his  head  at  the  shouting  country  people,  and 
disappeared  from  view.  And  then  the  hounds  came 
pouring  down  the  field,  a  sombre  wave  of  eagerness, 
filling  the  very  heaven  with  their  music.  You-ow-ow, 
the  great  full-throated  notes  swelled  and  echoed,  till 
the  poorest  heart  must  beat  to  the  tune.  Horses 
snorted  at  the  sound,  sweating  from  pure  excitement, 
straining  at  their  bits  to  follow.  You-ow-ow.  Let 
any  man  who  has  not  heard  the  pack  go  listen  as  they 
fling  themselves  on  the  line,  for  deer-hunting  may 
not  be  legitimate,  but  there  is  no  sound  like  this 
on  earth.  On,  across  the  field,  below  the  hill,  over 
the  bank,  a  great  mound  of  green  turf  with  a  wide 
drain  at  either  side,  flying  now  at  a  pace  which 
meant  galloping  to  live  with  them.  There  is  no 
looking  for  places,  except  when  wire  stops  the  field  ; 
each  bank  is  clean  and  honest,  with  room  for  fifty 
abreast,  and  even  then,  straining  every  nerve,  good 
horses  fall  behind  when  the  staghounds  run  hard. 
Moira  could  have  shouted  in  her  excitement  as  she 
heard  the  burst  of  music,  and  drove  her  borrowed 
mount  to  keep  with  the  hounds.  But  deer  are 
self-willed.  The  morning  hunt  was  not  to  be  one 
of  those  fiery  gallops  which  make  men  for  an  hour 
forget  fox-hunting.  This  particular  stag  grew  bored 
with  running  away,  and  came  trotting  back  to  them 
along  the  road,  utterly  declining  to  go  anywhere. 
When  pressed,  he  cantered  down  the  road,  giving 
horses  the  battering  on  the  macadam — which,  of 
course,  there  is  sometimes  too  much  of — and  then 
galloped  round  in  small  circles,  seemingly  unafraid 
of  the  full-throated  chorus  at  his  heels.  It  was  half- 


Of  Decr^Hunting  and  the  Hermit     251 

past  two  when  they  took  him,  standing  in  a  boggy 
ditch. 

"If  they  would  only  go  on,"  said  Moira  discon- 
solately ;  "  the  fences  are  too  lovely,  and  this  horse 
jumps  so  well." 

Cromartin  had  had  a  fall  ;  riding  wide,  he  had 
tumbled  in  a  great  ditch,  horse  and  all,  and  found 
himself  absolutely  alone  and  unable  to  get  out. 

"  And  if  the  deer  hadn't  come  round  again  that 
way,  I  was  afraid  I'd  be  there  till  they  put  the  cattle 
out  in  May,"  he  said  ruefully,  shaking  his  soaked 
coat. 

Milton  was  absolutely  enthusiastic.  He  ha/1  re- 
mained upon  the  road,  allowing  the  chase  to  circle 
round  him  ;  and  he  thought  it  was  the  finest  sport 
in  the  world. 

"  Fences  to  make  an  old  man  young,"  he  declared  ; 
"  though  one  must  sit  down  to  ride  at  them." 

Cromartin  made  the  mental  decision  that  his  senior 
officer  must  have  been  standing  up  all  day ;  but  he 
said  nothing. 

"  We'll  come  again,"  said  Milton.  "  I  suppose  if 
we  ride  slowly  back  now,  we  shall  not  be  much  too 
early.  They'll  do  nothing  more." 

But  the  Master  was  of  another  opinion.  Horses 
were  fresh,  so  they  enlarged  again  on  a  strip  of  road 
between  two  hills.  There  was  no  hesitation  this 
time  when  hounds  were  laid  on.  The  full,  baying 
notes  were  fainter,  for  scent  was  hot,  and  there  was 
not  so  much  time  for  music. 

Moira  was  standing  with  Milton  as  the  deer  went 
away.  She  hustled  him  through  the  gate  and  down 
the  field,  when  the  pace  and  a  gap  or  two  tempted 


252  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

him  further.  And  then  riding  wide,  left  of  hounds, 
only  Moira  with  him,  he  was  not  only  ashamed,  but 
afraid  to  stop.  They  were  lost  in  an  unknown,  hugely 
fenced  country,  and  when  one  or  two  wide  banks 
were  thrown  behind,  he  knew  he  would  have  to  jump 
them  again  if  he  stopped — towering  things,  which 
one  could  have  driven  a  cart  along  the  top  of,  deep 
ditches  with  gleams  of  cold  water  offending  the  timid 
eye. 

How  they  raced  along,  the  deep  notes  of  the  pack 
echoing  through  the  still  air !  And  race  as  they 
would,  hounds  gained  from  all  except  a  couple  of 
thoroughbreds. 

Moira  was  enjoying  it  madly ;  her  blood  was  on 
fire  as  she  felt  the  good  horse's  stride  beneath  her,  felt 
the  glory  of  her  pace,  saw  the  green  country  unfold 
itself  beneath  the  bright  sunshine. 

They  dwelt  for  a  minute,  a  welcome  breather,  and 
then  on  again,  bending  to  the  right,  so  that  Milton 
and  Moira  were  still  more  isolated.  His  horse  was 
blown  ;  his  own  soul  sickened  at  the  chasms  he  had 
crossed ;  and  he  thought  he  saw  a  road,  so  that 
instead  of  following  the  line  of  the  pack,  Milton  rode 
still  more  to  the  left,  and  found  a  high  narrow  bank 
barring  his  way.  He  fumbled  at  his  horse's  mouth, 
looked  round,  heard  Moira  calling,  and  set  his  mount 
at  the  fence  in  the  half-hearted  way  which  invites 
a  fall.  There  was  a  deep  drain  outside,  one  which 
the  horse  might  have  cleared  if  his  head  had  been  left 
alone,  but  the  sudden  nervous  grasp  on  the  curb 
made  disaster  certain.  The  two  were  engulfed 
in  muddy  softness,  and  as  Moira  got  over  lower 
down  she  saw  Milton  crawling  landwards,  while  his 


Of  DeeivHunting  and  the  Hermit     253 

poor  beast  was  on  its  back  wedged  in  the  ditch. 
No  one  near,  no  hope  or  help  in  the  quiet  field,  the 
yap,  yap  of  the  hounds  grew  fainter  in  the  distance. 

"  What  on  earth  are  we  to  do  ? "  said  Milton 
hopelessly. 

Moira,  riding  up  and  down,  thought  she  saw  a  stain 
of  smoke  on  the  clear  air.  It  was  a  case  of  ropes  and 
help,  and  she  suggested  riding  until  she  found  a 
cottage.  Milton,  devoid  of  gratitude,  nursed  his 
horse's  head,  to  prevent  it  going  under  water,  and 
sourly  supposed  she'd  better.  Moira  tracked  the 
smoke-trail  until  she  got  on  to  a  lane,  and  found 
a  tiny  cottage.  But  there  was  no  man  to  give  aid, 
only  a  kindly  woman,  who  wrung  her  hands  with 
excitement. 

"  Turned  over  in  the  ditch  !  Vo,  vo.  D'ye  say 
so  now,  the  crayther?  An'  ye  must  have  ropes  to 
get  him  out.  Have  I  a  sign  of  a  rope,  miss?" 
The  woman  paused  ;  then,  with  a  skirl  of  triumph, 
she  ran  towards  a  small  hayrick  standing  near  the 
cottage,  caught  up  a  hay  knife  which  was  plunged  in 
it,  and  rushed  at  a  cart  which  stood  in  the  yard. 
There  were  rope-traces  attached  to  it,  which  she 
sawed  off,  and  these,  with  a  pair  of  rope-reins,  were 
thrust  into  Moira's  hands. 

"  God  sind  they'll  howld  to  dhrag  him  out.  God 
sind  it,  miss.  If  ye  had  but  help,  and,  Mother  Mary 
be  praised  !  here's  Danny,  me  son,  home  from 
market." 

Danny,  a  pallid  and  ill-fed  youth,  woke  to  the 
occasion.  He  took  the  ropes  from  Moira,  pointed 
out  a  shorter  way  along  a  road,  and  set  off  at 
a  run. 


254  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Moira,  trotting  in  front,  thought  he  was  merely 
crawling. 

"  Why  can't  you  hurry  ?  "  she  queried  sharply. 
"  I    have    spasms,"   said    Danny   sourly,    checking 
further  comment.     Fate  at  that  moment  sent  them 
another  friend — one  Mulligan,  driving  cattle  on  the 
road.     Danny  swept  him  to  his  aid. 

"  Yer  a  man,  let  the  cattle  off.  They'll  go  asthray 
or  ye?  What  matther  is  it,  whin  there's  a  horse 
dhrownding  ?  " 

Mulligan  immediately  left  the  cattle,  and  Moira 
and  her  helpers  hurried  to  the  unhappy  Milton.  It 
was  no  easy  task  of  rescue,  but  it  was  accomplished 
at  last.  Milton,  rubbing  his  chilled  horse,  began  to 
wonder  how  little  reward  he  could  give. 

Danny  was  no  grasper  of  payment.  He  accepted 
half  a  crown  without  a  thought  of  severed  traces  and 
broken  cart-reins,  just  as  Mulligan,  his  friend,  was 
oblivious  of  several  hours  to  be  spent  in  search  of 
his  scattered  cattle. 

Yet  Milton's  frame  of  mind  was  a  happy  one  as 
they  went  fast  towards  the  station.  Had  he  not, 
even  if  completely  against  his  will,  distinguished 
himself  across  those  terrific  fences  ?  That  and  his  fall 
would  be  magnified  into  mighty  matters. 

"  It  was  really  almost  unjumpable,"  he  said,  as  they 
trotted  along  the  lonely  road. 

"  It  was  just  your  pulling  at  him  on  top,  I  think," 
said  Moira,  with  the  thoughtless  candour  which  is  so 
hard  to  bear.  "  It  wasn't  big." 

Milton  grunted  scornfully. 

"  But  it  was  lovely.  And  those  big  fences  are  so 
easy,"  said  Moira  enthusiastically.  "  Oh,  we  hadn't 


Of  Deer'Hunting  and  the  Hermit     255 

far  to  come.     Here  is  Ballytubbert ;  the  others  aren't 
in,  of  course ;  but  we'll  have  our  tea  now." 

The  bright  morning  was  waning  to  a  bitter 
night :  a  cold  east  wind  drove  across  the  wood,  the 
sky  was  pallid  with  cold,  grass  was  crisping  under 
a  sharp  frost.  The  man  took  the  horses,  and  they 
turned  towards  a  small  hotel  standing  by  the 
station.  Now,  to  give  Ireland  the  honour  due  to 
it,  the  place  was  kept  by  no  true  son  of  the  land ; 
the  owner  was  half  English,  half  American,  a  trainer 
of  race-horses,  who  cared  nothing  for  his  hotel. 
The  door  was  opened  by  a  maiden  steeped  in  dirt, 
a  red  flannel  jacket  her  only  bodice ;  her  skirt 
a  study  in  gaps.  In  response  to  a  demand  for 
tea,  she  ushered  them  into  a  room  to  the  left ; 
on  entering  it,  Moira  started  back  in  dismay.  A 
reek  of  porter  and  whisky  and  vile,  stale  tobacco 
drove  in  her  face  as  a  blow.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  a  filthy  linoleum,  the  one  long  table  with  the 
same  ;  there  was  no  fire,  and  a  baby's  perambulator, 
filled  with  dirty  outdoor  garments,  stood  near  the 
fireplace. 

Captain  Milton  said  "  Good  God  ! "  sharply,  and 
thundered  on  the  bell. 

"  Was  there  no  other  room  ?  They  could  not  take 
tea  here." 

The  flannel-jacketed  maiden  considered  the  ques- 
tion, and  led  them  down  a  grimy  passage  into  a  smaller 
room,  if  possible  dirtier  than  the  first,  but  evidently 
of  a  more  private  nature,  and  apparently,  judging  by 
dirty  collars  and  other  garments  lying  on  the  table, 
occasionally  used  as  a  dressing-room.  The  thought 
of  taking  tea  anywhere  in  the  house  made  Moira 


256  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

sick  ;  she  proffered  an  urgent  request  to  be  allowed 
to  go  without  food,  and  to  sit  at  the  railway-station 
until  train  time. 

Captain  Milton  looked  at  his  watch  ;  they  had  an 
hour  and  a  half  to  wait.  He  interviewed  the  porter, 
who  told  him  they  should  have  entrained  at  Ardgrath, 
three  miles  farther  back. 

"There's  a  nate  little  hotel  there  that  all  the 
hunting  genthrey  goes  to,"  he  told  them.  "  Tay,  and 
eggs,  and  jam  and  all  ye'd  fancy.  Sorra  a  thing  in 
there" — he  nodded  strong  disapproval  at  the  house 
they  had  left — "  but  thedhregsof  porther  and  whisky. 
There's  none  sthops  there  but  thim  that  can't  help  it, 
or  wants  to  drink." 

A  car  drove  up  to  the  station,  and  the  porter  was 
struck  by  a  brilliant  idea.  "  There's  Andy  O'Mally's 
cyar,"  he  said,  "  come  in  with  a  parcel  from  Misther 
O'Grady's.  He'sgoin'  back  to  Ardgrath.  If  ye  were 
arlier  ye  could  dhrive  back  with  him,  an'  have  tay, 
an'  catch  the  thrain  beyond." 

Milton  again  consulted  his  watch.  If  it  was  only 
three  miles  away  they  still  had  time,  and  the  idea  of 
tea  was  alluring — for  it  was  very  cold.  They  took 
their  bags  and  drove  away,  leaving  word  to  tell  what 
they  had  done. 

Andy  O'Mally  declined  to  be  hurried.  There  were 
parcels  to  collect  at  the  station,  a  box  of  books  on 
the  well,  a  bag  of  flour  to  be  strapped  on  to  the 
driving  seat,  from  which  it  nodded  like  a  headless 
alderman.  The  three  miles  were  Irish,  and  therefore 
elastic,  stretching  interminably  through  a  flat,  bare 
land,  where  the  banks  flung  black  shadows  in  the 
moonlight.  It  was  bitterly  cold  now,  as  the  old 


Of  Deer^Hunting  and  the  Hermit     257 

horse  jogged  monotonously,  walking  up  every  slope 
to  spare  his  breath,  and  down  each  hill  to  spare  his 
spavined  hocks. 

Andy  O'Mally  was  taciturn  and  sparing  of  speech. 
When  asked  to  hurry  he  beat  the  horse  softly,  but  as 
one  who  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  the  blow 
hastening  the  speed.  As  they  dipped  between  high 
hedges  into  a  well  of  gloom  and  emerged  into  the 
pale,  clear  light  of  the  moon,  a  row  of  trembling 
lights  in  front  gladdened  them.  It  was  then  that 
Milton  looked  again  at  his  watch,  and  exclaimed 
feverishly.  Tea  was  no  longer  a  consideration,  for 
the  hands  pointed  to  6.5.  "Drive  to  the  station," 
commanded  Milton.  "  God,  what  a  horse !  We  can 
only  catch  the  train  now." 

"If  ye  can  do  that  same,"  said  Andy,  without 
emotion.  "  Tis  all  up  hill." 

For  the  station  at  Ardgrath  is  not  in  the  town. 
With  horror  they  discovered  that  a  mile  of  hilly  road 
lay  between,  and  even  as  they  looked  a  long  shrill 
whistle  rent  the  still  evening. 

"  Ye  may  as  well  have  ye're  tay,  now,"  said  Andy 
placidly.  "  If  I  was  a  mother  cyar  I  wouldn't  be 
there." 

"  They — the  others — will  explain  to  Eva,"  said 
Moira,  rather  unhappily.  "  We  can  go  on  later." 

"  Faix,  ye  can,  at  two  o'clock,"  observed  Andy,  as 
he  took  payment  and  drove  away. 

Moira  had  not   realised   the   awkwardness  of  her 

plight.     They  had  missed  one  train,  they  would  go 

later,  that  was  all.     She  yawned  as  they  were  shown 

nto  a  cosy  sitting-room,  where  a  bright  fire  warmed 

frozen   hands   and    feet.     Tea,   hot   toast,  eggs   and 

17 


258  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

cream  were  rapidly  produced,  and  eaten  with  a 
hunter's  appetite. 

Milton  stifled  his  conscience  in  the  comfort  of 
the  small  room.  He  took  it  as  good  fun,  and 
seeing  Moira  did  not  mind,  glazed  it  all  over 
lightly. 

"  We  can  go  by  the  night  train,"  he  said  easily. 

Moira  shivered  and  yawned.  She  had  a  change 
with  her.  She  would  stay  all  night,  and  leave  in 
the  morning.  Eva  would  not  expect  her  until  then, 
or  meet  her  at  half-past  three  at  night.  "  That'll  do, 
won't  it  ?  "  said  Moira,  without  thought. 

Milton  looked  at  her,  and  with  a  dense  man's  lack 
of  perception,  misread  her  carelessness.  "  I  must  go 
by  the  two,"  he  said  limply,  not  at  all  sure  that  he 
would  do  so,  for  the  warmth  of  the  room  was  lapping 
him  to  laziness. 

They  would  want  dinner.  Jane,  the  little  hand- 
maiden, was  confident  that  they  could  have  some. 
"  There  were  chickens  up  on  the  roost,"  she  said,  "  that 
could  be  cooked  in  time."  On  this  being  firmly 
declined,  she  called  to  an  unseen  Cornelius,  and  bade 
him  knock  up  Casey  to  see  if  he  had  a  bit  of  mutton 
"fit  for  the  atin'."  She  said  'twouldn't  agree  with 
them  "  atin' "  so  late  as  eight,  and  then  withdrew, 
clearing  off  the  tea  things. 

The  oil  lamp,  badly  trimmed,  flickered  and  smelt. 
The  room  grew  over  hot,  and  the  one  window  was 
hermetically  sealed.  As  Milton,  puffing  at  a  huge  cigar, 
reeled  forth  tale  after  tale  of  his  feats  and  prowess, 
Moira  grew  suddenly  wakeful  and  uneasy.  Eva 
would  be  alarmed,  might  be  angry.  The  whole  thing 
had  been  stupid  and  unnecessary,  for  she  could  have 


Of  Deer'Hunting  and  the  Hermit     259 

done  without  her  tea.  The  stillness  of  sharp  frost 
held  the  world  outside,  broken  by  the  occasional 
rumble  of  carts,  or  the  clump  of  heavy  footsteps  on 
the  crisp  hardness  of  the  roads.  It  was  past  seven 
now.  The  train  was  in,  and  Eva  knew  of  her  absence. 
She  could  not  wire,  for  the  little  village  held  no 
office. 

"  Will  you  be  wantin'  Andy,  sir,  for  the  night 
thrain  ? "  said  Jane,  thrusting  in  her  head  after  a 
demure  cough.  "  He  says  if  you  do  he  must  sit 
below  and  not  return  home."  Milton  temporised  for 
an  hour.  The  prospect  of  turning  out  at  two  was  not 
alluring.  Moira,  unheeding,  was  staring  into  the 
bright  fire,  her  thoughts  far  away.  She  was  thinking, 
with  great  conviction,  that  the  Hermit  would  not 
have  missed  the  train. 

"  Could  one  drive  back  ?  It's  only  about  twenty- 
five  miles  by  road?  "  she  asked,  looking  up. 

Milton  laughed  at  the  idea.  Andy's  old  grey  would 
most  certainly  never  get  there. 

Moira  stared  into  the  fire  again,  abstracted,  and 
yet  strangely  restless.  Dragging  her  thoughts  back 
with  an  effort,  she  looked  across  at  Milton,  listen- 
ing vaguely  to  his  tale  of  how  he  cut  down  a 
Leicestershire  field.  He  was  good-looking,  well  set 
up,  and  yet  Moira  knew  there  was  no  restfulness 
in  sitting  listening  to  his  discourse.  For  com- 
panionship there  must  be  sympathy,  and  Lancelot 
Milton  was  too  self-centred  to  be  sympathetic.  The 
idea  of  listening  to  Moira  while  she  talked  about 
her  old  life  or  present  experiences  never  entered 
into  his  head. 

He  grew  merry  as  Jane  appeared  with  plates,  or 


260          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

the  news  that  Cornelius  had  got  the  chops,  twitting 
Moira  on  her  dulness. 

"  Rather  fun,  after  all,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said  superbly, 
lounging  against  the  mantelpiece — "  cosy  and  jolly 
in  here  as  we  are."  The  tender  note  in  this  was 
broken  short  by  Jane,  dish  in  hand,  entreating  him 
"for  the  love  of  God  not  to  lane  agin  the  chimney 
boord,  for  'twas  only  held  by  one  nail,  that  might  give 
any  minit  at  all."  In  her  fear,  she  rushed  at  him, 
pulling  him  away  with  a  jerk  which  shot  a  chop  into 
the  fireplace. 

"  See  that  now,"  said  Jane,  picking  it  out  with  the 
tongs.  "  There's  not  a  ha'porth  on  it  but  a  taste  of 
ashes,"  she  added,  blowing  lustily,  and  greatly  sur- 
prised when  Moira  ordered  its  removal. 

"  'Twasn't  hurt  no  more  than  if  'twas  cookin',"  said 
Jane,  offended.  "  The  other  chops  is  waitin'  on  ye," 
she  said,  banging  down  the  dish.  They  were  noble 
chops,  cut  in  thick  slabs,  straight  across  some  un- 
known portion  of  a  sheep.  They  had  been  fried  to  a 
dull  brown,  and  came  up  supine  and  greasy,  with 
a  little  fat-spotted  water  poured  about  them. 

The  knife  glided  off  them  with  a  jar  of  surprise, 
and  when  a  piece,  torn  away,  was  tasted,  they  proved 
to  be  tough  as  leather,  and  tasting  strongly  of  turf 
smoke  and  frying-pan.  Moira  took  potatoes,  and 
was  content,  but  Captain  Milton  grumbled  savagely. 
Jane  bent  humbly  before  his  storm  of  abuse. 

"  I'm  thinkin',  afther  all,  that  Casey  lied,"  she  said 
penitently.  "  Cornelius  saw  Matty  Mahers'  ould  sheep 
being  dhruv  up  there  to-day,  and,  maybe,  'tis  a  bit  of 
that  same  he  cut  off  for  him.  Ye  couldn't  be  up  to 
the  ways  of  thim  butchers.  There  wouldn't  be  one 


Of  Deer'Hunting  and  the  Hermit     261 

here  at  all,  only  there's  two  great  houses  to  be 
supplied." 

Milton  drank  fiery  whisky.     Moira  had  tea. 

The  little  clock  said  half-past  eight,  and  the  hoot 
of  a  motor  suddenly  tore  at  the  stillness  outside. 
It  was  throbbing  fast  up  the  road  ;  they  heard  it  stop 
outside. 

"  Glory  be  to  the  hevins,  a  mother  ! "  cried  Jane, 
flinging  herself  downstairs.  They  could  hear  her 
shrieking  to  Cornelius  to  turn  out  the  old  ass  if  the 
gentlemen  wanted  a  house. 

Milton  lounged  across  to  Moira,  who  was  sipping 
tea  dejectedly.  "  I  hope  they  won't  come  in  here, 
whoever  they  are,"  he  said  fatuously.  He  sat  down 
upon  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and  his  face,  which  spoke 
of  untamed  whisky,  was  rather  near  hers. 

Moira  moved  away  quickly,  a  hot  flush  on  her  face. 
If  Captain  Milton  was  moved  to  this  mood,  she  felt 
that  Andy  and  the  car  out  in  the  cold  would  be 
a  pleasant  alternative.  She  had  all  a  young  girl's 
fear  of  seeming  too  angry,  or  being  stupidly  offended, 
and  she  glanced  at  the  door  miserably.  Steps  were 
coming  up  the  stairs. 

Milton  followed  her  across.  The  raw  spirit  worked 
in  his  brain,  and  Moira's  flushing  face  was  alluring. 
It  was  time  for  some  slight  return  for  weeks  of 
devotion. 

"  What  a  nuisance,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said,  and  took  her 
hand  in  his.  "  They  must  go  soon,  though  ;  then 
we'll  have  a  nice  time,  all  alone." 

"  Oh,  please,"  said  Moira  helplessly. 

"  I've  come  to  take  you  home,  Moira,"  said  a  quiet 
voice  at  the  door. 


262  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Why — who  the  deuce  ?  "  said  Milton. 

"  The  Hermit !  You  !  "  Moira  shot  to  her  feet 
with  a  cry ;  she  dashed  across  the  room,  clinging 
to  his  hands,  feeling  as  some  disconsolate  little 
pleasure  boat,  which,  rudderless  and  beaten  by  waves, 
is  suddenly  towed  into  harbour  by  a  steam  tug. 

"  Oh,  how,  and  where,  and  when  ?  "  she  cried. 

The  Hermit  looked  hard  at  Milton,  question,  as 
well  as  anger,  in  his  eyes.  The  longer  he  looked  the 
less  satisfied  he  appeared  to  be.  Milton,  growing 
visibly  uneasy  under  the  scrutiny,  began  to  explain 
hazily,  in  a  manner  calculated  to  convey  that  no 
train  could  ever  have  been  caught,  at  any  hour. 

"  Slip  into  your  coat,  Moira,"  said  the  Hermit. 
"  I  came  down  to  Ballydare  this  morning,  and  went 
to  the  station  to  meet  you.  It  appears  the  horse 
you  ordered  hurt  itself  against  a  hearse.  And,  when 
1  heard  of  this  piece  of  stupidity" — his  eye  raked 
Milton  fiercely — "  I  came  along  to  fetch  you.  We 
can  take  you,  too,"  he  said  politely  to  Milton. 

Moira  babbled  explanations  rapidly :  how  they 
had  wanted  tea,  at  least,  Milton  had,  and  how  Andy's 
horse  had  been  so  slow,  and  there  was  no  other 
train. 

"  You  were,  of  course,  driving  home  ? "  said  the 
Hermit  to  Milton,  who  stood  silent  for  once,  with 
a  whipped  feeling  which  he  had  believed  lost  in  his 
childhood. 

"  I  was  going  by  the  midnight  train,"  said  Milton 
stiffly. 

The  Hermit's  face  cleared  a  little,  to  fall  again 
as  Jane  put  her  nose  in. 

"  Andy   says   he'll   wait   no    longer,   yer    honour. 


Of  DeervHunting  and  the  Hermit     263 

Will  ye  want  him  or  not  for  the  two  thrain  ?  But 
sure,  ye're  all  off  now."  Captain  Milton's  answer  was 
not  audible. 

The  Hermit,  still  very  quiet,  paid  the  bill.  They 
went  downstairs  to  get  into  a  2O-h.p.  Daracq,  which 
throbbed  noisily  at  the  door.  Moira  and  the  Hermit 
sat  in  front ;  Milton  got  in  at  the  back  with  the  man. 
They  bade  good-bye  to  Jane,  and  swooped  at  the 
silver  streak  of  road,  the  keen  air  cold  upon  their 
faces.  Moira's  tongue  burst  into  eager  questioning. 
"  Why,  how,  when  had  the  Hermit  come  down  ? 
Why  had  he  not  written  ?  What  did  it  mean  ? 

"  He  had  motored  down,"  he  said  ;  "  he  was  going 
to  buy  a  horse  and  hunt  for  a  little."  He  looked 
down  at  Moira  with  questioning  eyes.  "  It  was  a  great 
piece  of  folly,  wasn't  it?"  he  said.  "Unless  — 
and  he  looked  back  a  little  at  Milton.  "  What  if  I 
had  not  come  to  fetch  you,  Moira  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  back  at  eight  to-morrow,"  said  Moira 
uneasily. 

"  The  world  has  apparently  not  taught  you  wisdom. 
There  are  some  things  you  may  not  do,"  he  said 
sharply.  "  Eva  was  broken-hearted  when  the  train 
came  in."  Again  he  looked  at  her  with  a  curious 
question  in  his  eyes,  and  he  sighed  a  little  im- 
patiently. 

The  car  devoured  the  empty  road— fortunately 
almost  a  straight  one— and  once  they  reached  Cool- 
granagh  there  were  telegraph  posts  to  guide  them. 
A  halo  dimmed  the  peevish  moon,  telling  the  silver 
frost  was  a  mere  forerunner  of  rain  ;  but  the  icebreath 
fell  heavily  now,  crisping  the  world  to  silver. 

It   was  joy   when,   having  dropped    Milton,   they 


264  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

swung  through  the  narrow  gates  at  The  Beeches, 
into  the  radiance  of  yellow  light  cast  by  the  un- 
shuttered windows.  There  was  welcome  for  the 
returned  prodigal.  Biddy  had  prepared  an  extrava- 
gant supper,  and  they  passed  from  the  cold  of  the 
frosty  night  into  the  warmth  of  the  little  square 
room. 

But  Eva,  when  the  Hermit,  having  partaken  largely 
of  cold  chicken  and  bacon,  hot  cakes  and  much  butter, 
left  them,  was  absent  and  even  vexed.  For  the  first 
time  the  elder  sister  asserted  her  seniority,  daring  to 
question  the  conduct  of  the  stronger-willed  younger 
girl. 

"  It  was  a  pity,  Moira  ;  I  don't  like  it.  You  see, 
the  Hermit  appeared  suddenly  just  from  nowhere, 
and  we  went  off  to  the  station,  meaning  to  surprise 
you.  The  Hermit  stayed  outside  in  the  car  :  I  went 
to  the  train,  and — "  Eva's  voice  grew  troubled — "Mrs. 
Vereker  was  there,  and  she  would  scarcely  speak  to 
me." 

"  And  Dennis  ?  "  asked  Moira  eagerly. 

"  Dennis,  good  boy,  was  held  by  his  mother's  hand." 
There  was  faint  contempt  in  Eva's  voice.  "  But  then 
Mr.  Cromartin  got  out — 'Your  sister's  missed  the  train,' 
he  said.  '  She  got  to  Ballytubbert  in  time,  but  she 
went  off  with  Captain  Milton  to  take  tea  somewhere, 
at  Ardgrath,  I  believe,  and. never  got  to  the  station.' 
Moira,  I  saw  Mrs.  Vereker  turn  and  look.  '  There's 
a  train  back  at  two,'  Mr.  Cromartin  said,  'and  one 
early  to-morrow  morning.  Miss  Considine  took  her 
bag,  so  she  can  stay  if  she  wants  to.'  He  said 
something  under  his  breath  about  Captain  Milton 
then,  and  he  looked  so  put  out.  Moira,  Mrs.  Vereker 


Of  DeervHunting  and  the  Hermit     265 

won't   forget    it.      It's — it's   time   we   went  back   to 
Borrisdeane  .  .  .  ." 

Moira,  with  hot  cheeks,  said  "  Rubbish,"  miserably. 
"  The  Hermit  is  here  now  to  hunt,"  she  added  ;  "  we 
couldn't  go."  Eva  shook  a  despondent  head  ;  she 
had  not,  it  would  appear,  represented  things  very 
cheerfully  to  the  Hermit. 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE   NIGHT   OF   TIIK   PARTY 

"  T  T'S  all  been  a  great  success,  then,"  said  the 
J.  Hermit,  addressing  himself  to  Moira. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Moira  stiffly,  and  the  tail  of  a 
warning  eye  dwelt  fiercely  upon  Eva. 

The  Hermit  had  arrived  to  breakfast  He  said  he 
knew  Biddy  would  give  him  some.  His  arrival  had 
occasioned  the  immediate  removal  of  Patsy  from  his 
horses,  to  be  dispatched  to  Mary  Guinane's  and 
Tommy  Sheeby's  for  an  odd  egg  or  so,  also  the  hasty 
slapping  together  of  a  griddle-cake,  which  was  out- 
wardly crisp  and  inwardly  soft  and  altogether  excellent. 

"  You've  had  a  really  good  time  in  this  new  world 
of  yours  ? "  he  asked,  dodging  a  well-aimed  puff 
from  the  fire. 

"  Yes,"  said  Moira,  this  time  angrily. 

"  The  Star's  a  skeleton  and  Gog's  legs  are  bolsters," 
observed  Kathleen  with  unnecessary  candour,  and 
apropos  of  nothing. 

The  Hermit's  eye  travelled  slowly  round  the  smoke- 
grimed  dining-room.  "  It's  not  a  very  well  furnished 
world,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  But  there's  lots  going 
on,"  he  said  cheerily.  "  The  Boots  at  the  hotel  filled 
me  with  information.  It  was  dull  for  you  at  Borris- 

266 


The  Night  of  the  Party  267 

deane.  Well,  are  you  going  to  the  Kavanaghs',  or  to 
the  dance — the  Leigh  Dares' — afternoon  bridge  of 
course  there  ?  " 

"  We — we  are  engaged  this  evening,"  said  Moira, 
avoiding  the  keen  blue  eyes. 

"  And  there's  bridge  here  in  the  afternoon."  Little 
Kathleen  was  irrepressible.  "  And  Captain  Milton 
is  sure  to  come  to  see  Moira." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  Hermit,  very  quietly. 

Kathleen,  rejoicing  in  unbaked  griddle  cake,  said  a 
day  without  Captain  Milton  would  be  an  event.  She 
smiled  knowingly  at  the  Hermit,  whose  smile  in 
response  lacked  gaiety.  "  And  Miss  Eva  and  her 
Vereker  boy,"  said  Kathleen. 

"  And  you  ?  "  asked  the  Hermit. 

"  Oh  !  I've  the  horses,"  said  Kathleen  thoughtfully. 
"  I  hunt  nearly  every  day.  Mr.  Moroney  says  I'm  a 
terror,"  she  added  with  sudden  cheer.  "  I  jumped  on 
one  of  his  hounds  last  day.  I'll  show  you  Jim 
Crow,"  she  said  invitingly. 

They  went  out  to  the  little  yard.  James  Dunne 
was  pleasantly  engaged  in  stuping  Gog's  legs,  while 
Patsy  explained  how  he  himself  was  whipped  away 
to  get  eggs.  "  And  they  should  be  fresh,"  said  Patsy, 
"  for  I  had  to  wait  on  Mary  Guinane's  yallow  hin 
while  she  laid  the  brown  one." 

The  Star,  a  dejected  object,  was  faintly  tasting 
crushed  oats  and  hot  bran.  Patsy  thought  she  might 
hunt  on  the  morrow. 

"  She'd  break  any  man's  heart,"  he  said,  watching 
an  ever-ready  heel.  "The  day  afther  huntin'  she'd 
fly  round  her  box  like  a  wild  sparry,  and  I  declare 
to  God  she  wouldn't  pick  as  much." 


- 


268  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  There's  some  comfort  in  Gog,"  he  went  on,  "  even 
if  what  he  ate  would  go  into  his  legs." 

A  big  cheque  seemed  to  be  a  very  long  way  off 
now.  Moira,  ever  hopeful,  said  they  would  get  it 
in  the  summer,  when  The  Star  grew  fat  and  Gog's 
legs  grew  thin.  There  would  be  the  winter's  hunt- 
ing reputation  to  sell  them  on.  Her  sore  little 
heart  was  resenting  the  Hermit's  appearance  and 
questionings. 

Eva  observed  gloomily  that  horses  cost  sheer 
fortunes  to  feed.  She  seemed  to  buy  something 
each  day.  Biddy,  appearing  with  food  for  some 
stray  chickens,  which  she  had  refused  to  kill  because 
they  were  hens,  cast  aspersions  on  all  horseflesh. 

"  There  was  more  vally  in  the  old  cow  an'  the  two 
pigs  we  had  beyant,"  she  said  stoutly,  "  that'd  ate 
grass  what  ye  wouldn't  miss,  an'  that  male  an' 
scraps'd  kape  fat  an'  sthrong." 

The  Hermit  agreed  with  her  with  due  gravity. 
Yet  he  observed  a  few  minutes  later  that  he  intended 
to  buy  or  hire  a  horse  himself,  so  that  he  might  hunt 
next  day. 

Kathleen  immediately  suggested  Malone. 

The  Hermit  shook  his  head.  "  Slattery,"  he  said, 
1  for  me.  Malone  if  I  wanted  a  good  young  one,  but 
Slattery's  will  be  trained  and  fit  to  go." 

"  Ould  Slathery's  dead,"  remarked  James  Dunne, 
who  was  staring  hard  at  the  Hermit,  and  appeared  to 
have  something  on  his  mind.  "Young  Martin  an'  his 
mamma  does  the  bizness  now,  and  a  'cute  young  chap 
he  is  too." 

"  We'll  motor  there,"  said  the  Hermit,  "  and  get 
back  early.  They  went  in  to  the  fire ;  the  morning 


The  Night  of  the  Party  269 

was  raw  and  cold.  "  And  so  Ballydare  actually  has 
three  parties  to-day,  and  you  say  you  are  engaged 
elsewhere.  Who  to,  Moira  ?  " 

"  Mamma  wants  to  know,  have  you  a  '  shape,'  Miss 
Moira?"  said  Baby  Julia,  putting  a  coy  head  round 
the  door. 

"Dear  me,"  said  the  Hermit  faintly,  bereft  of  words 
by  the  vision. 

The  Baby  was  somewhat  flurried  and  uncurled. 
Perceiving  the  Hermit,  she  wound  her  fur  about  her 
neck  to  hide  her  lack  of  collar-band,  and  pranced  in. 

"  I'm  not  got  up,"  she  announced  truthfully,  "  for 
I'm  in  the  kitchen  all  morning,  an'  I  just  lit  up  in 
the  jennet's  inside-outside  car — that  was  after  fetching 
soda-water — and  cantered  over  here  to  you,  mamma 
being  demented.  We're  short  of  a  round  shape,  if 
you  have  one  or  two  to  set  the  jellies  in.  We  have 
all  ours  used,  and  there's  none  set  to  turn  out  yet.  I 
hope  you'll  bring  your  friend  to-night,"  she  added 
sweetly,  as  Moira  introduced  them. 

"  It's  only  a  little  bit  of  a  hop,"  she  said  modestly — 
"just  boys  and  girls  and  a  few  officers.  But,  indeed, 
we'd  be  very  glad  to  see  you.  It's  hard  to  get  an 
arm  to  give  every  girl  a  twirl.  An'  papa  won't  forget 
the  champagne,  whatever  happens.  There's  life  in  a 
drop  of  champagne,"  said  the  Baby  joyously. 

"  There  is  indeed,"  said  the  Hermit  gravely. 
"  I  "—he  looked  at  Moira — "  I  shall  be  charmed  to 
come." 

"  Success,"  said  Baby  Julia,  with  some  enthusiasm^ 
"  success  to  you." 

Biddy  appeared  with  two  tin  moulds,  and  Julia, 
taking  them  in  her  ample  hands,  sat  down. 


270          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"Claara  whipped  the  head  off  me  this  morning," 
she  confided,  "  and  set  papa  on  me  no  less.  She 
found  me  making  a  hiding  hole  for  meself  in  papa's 
writing-room.  I  tell  you  I  caught  it." 

She  rose,  clutching  the  shapes  and  her  fur. 

"  I  won't  be  such  a  figure  when  you  see  me  again," 
she  babbled.  "  Don't  be  late  now.  Eight  o'clock 
we'll  begin,  an'  go  on  till  we're  tired."  And  Julia, 
clasping  her  shapes,  vanished. 

"  So — that's  the  engagement  ?  "  said  the  Hermit 
slowly.  "  That's  the  engagement,  Moira  ?  Papa 
Geoghan  is  rather  a  decent  person  as  well  as  I 
recollect" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Moira,  with  an  airiness  she  did 
not  feel. 

"  He  used  to  sell  me  harness  when  I  was  here," 
said  the  Hermit — "  in  his  own  shop.  Your  world 
is  assorted,  Moira."  He  watched  her  flushing  face. 
"  Come,  let's  go  to  buy  horses,  and  I'll  wind  up  with 
the  car." 

Slattery's  was  some  miles  away.  The  Daracq  slid 
through  the  chill  grey  day  at  a  merry  pace.  Pallid 
clouds  had  overcast  the  air,  last  night's  frost  still  lay 
silver  in  the  hollows  ;  but  the  wind  had  changed, 
and  its  faint  sob  spoke  of  swiftly  coming  rain.  The 
Hermit  seemed  to  know  his  way ;  they  ran  through 
the  high  hedges  bordering  the  narrow  by-roads,  and 
on  past  Malone's  house,  where  Moira  had  had  her 
first  encounter  with  Mrs.  Vereker  and  her  sheep. 

She  spoke  of  it  now,  pointing  to  the  gap  leading 
from  the  road. 

"  She  seemed  to  dislike  us  from  the  first,"  said 
Moira  disconsolately,  "  and  to  dislike  me  most  of 


The  Night  of  the  Party  271 

all.  I've  seen  her  watching  me  with  such  a  cruel 
look." 

"  It's  curious."     The  Hermit  spoke  half  to  himself. 

"  And  I — I  seem  to  have  seen  her  before,"  went  on 
Moira.  "  I  felt  that  from  the  first." 

"  You  can't  think  where  ? "  asked  the  Hermit, 
artistically  shaving  a  wandering  donkey. 

"  No-o,"  answered  Moira  slowly.  "  She  seems 
mixed  up  in  my  mind  with  you,  and  that's  absurd." 

The  Hermit  said  nothing. 

They  climbed  to  higher  ground,  and  flashed  past 
Tulla  covert.  A  faint  gleam  of  sun  touched  the 
patch  of  gorse  as  they  passed.  To  Moira  the  place 
always  recalled  old  Dunne's  tale ;  she  spoke  of  it 
now  :  of  the  life-story  brought  to  a  close  there  so 
many  years  ago  ;  of  the  cruel,  cold  girl ;  and  the  man 
who,  goaded  to  madness,  had  spoken  his  mind,  and 
then  tried  to  ride  to  his  death.  "  Oh,  I've  pitied  him 
so  often,  for  he  was  so  young,"  said  Moira  softly. 

The  Hermit  slowed  the  car. 

"  A  slash  from  the  surgeon's  knife  may  be  better 
than  a  growing  sore,"  he  said,  very  quietly.  "  It  hurts. 
Yes — it  hurts."  His  teeth  were  set  now.  "But, 
supposing  he  had  married  the  girl  who  had  no  more 
heart  than  the  statues  she  surrounds  herself  with, 
what  would  his  life  have  been  ?  He  was  poor,  this 
boy ;  the  inheritance  he  hoped  for  then  never  came. 
Perhaps  the  pain  he  bore  then  was  better  than  a 
lifelong  one  yoked  to  a  woman  whose  soul  would 
have  cried  out  for  the  things  he  could  not  give. 
Men  love  shadows  sometimes,  little  Moira — glorious 
shadows  perhaps,  beautiful  to  see,  but  cold  and  chill 
withal  as  the  mist  wraiths  on  a  winter's  night.  Oh, 


272  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

and.men's  hearts  are  sore  when  they  find  it  all  out, 
until  some  day  perhaps  the  pain  dies  and  they  live 
again,  and  this  time,  not  for  the  desire  of  their  boyish 
eyes,  for  so  much  beauty,  without  one  thought  of  the 
nature  behind  the  mask  which  maddens  them,  but 
some  one  who  creeps  into  their  hearts,  who  is  lovelier 
to  them  now  than  the  being  they  once  deemed 
perfect." 

Moira  stared  hard  at  the  hedges  as  they  slipped  by. 
The  Hermit  no  doubt  spoke  of  the  girl  he  meant  to 
marry.  The  air  seemed  to  grow  suddenly  sharper,  for 
her  eyes  smarted. 

"  Love  is  all  humbug,"  she  said  gruffly. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  The  Hermit's  voice  grew 
suddenly  chill.  "  You  think  so,  Moira  ?  I  suppose  " 
— he  laughed  suddenly — "  no  girl  could  love  me,  for 
instance." 

Moira  said  politely — and  she  could  not  understand 
why,  going  slowly  as  they  were,  her  eyes  should  still 
hurt — "  that  no  doubt  it  was  all  a  matter  of  taste." 
She  conceived  a  sudden  unreasoning  dislike  for  the 
absent  fiancee,  and  wondered  why  the  Hermit  would 
not  speak  of  it  openly.  "  Some  dumpy,  ugly  thing," 
thought  Moira  with  quick  wrath. 

"  I  suppose  that's  it " — the  car  leapt  suddenly  to 
fuller  speed,  licking  up  the  strip  of  road.  "  I  suppose 
so,  Moira.  Well,  I  half  expected  it  all."  The 
Hermit's  face  was  strangely  sad  as  he  looked  ahead ; 
his  eyes  quietly  wistful.  "  He — would  appeal  to 
some  tastes." 

Moira  asked,  "  Who  ?  "  sharply. 

"  Your  friend  Milton,"  said  the  Hermit.  "  He  is  of 
course  good-looking — in  a  way." 


The  Night  of  the  Party  273 

"  He's  exceedingly  handsome,"  said  Moira  crossly. 
"  But  I  don't  know  what  he's  got  to  do  with 

your "  She  bit  off  marriage,  and  left  the  sentence 

unfinished. 

The  Hermit  thought  Captain  Milton  had  a  great 
deal  to  do  with  everything,  but  he  said  nothing 
more. 

Slattery's  house,  a  square  little  building,  lay  in  a 
hollow  below  them.  Ranges  of  stables,  painted  black, 
straggled  all  round  it.  A  huge  hay-barn  full  of  hay 
and  another  of  straw  overhung  the  front  windows. 
All  around  was  a  perfect  schooling  ground — small 
fields,  fenced  by  every  variety  of  fence ;  banks,  ditches, 
water,  even  timber.  Young  Martin  was  at  home,  and 
came  smiling  to  meet  them.  It  astonished  Moira 
to  see  an  old  helper  prick  up  his  head  and  greet 
the  Hermit  as  "  Misther  Grattan "  with  a  cry  of 
surprise. 

"  I  had  another  name  down  here,  you  see,"  said  the 
Hermit,  explaining.  "  Tremayne  is  really  only  a 
Christian  name  which  I  passed  under  at  Borris- 
deane.  "  How  are  you,  Tom  ?  "  he  said  to  the  old 
man. 

"  A  few  more  broken  bones  since  you  saw  me,  sir. 
It's  twenty-two  years  since  you  bought  a  horse  from 
us  ;  and  the  ould  man,  God  rest  his  sowl,  was  hale  an' 
well  then.  An'  yet  I'm  here  an'  he's  gone." 

Stables  were  opened,  horses  pulled  out.  Some 
were  rejected  instantly,  others  seen  at  a  gallop  and 
across  fences.  The  Hermit's  choice  from  the  first 
fell  on  a  blood-like  brown,  fired  for  curbs,  but  with  a 
hunter-like  look  about  him.  There  was  a  bay  he 
rode  also — a  big,  raking  brute  with  an  awkward 

18 


274  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

mouth,  but  a  fine  mover,  and  a  bold,  if  not  a  clever, 
jumper. 

Moira  had  often  seen  him  ride  at  Borrisdeane,  but 
it  was  a  revelation  to  watch  him  manage  the  bay  five- 
year-old — steadying  it  as  it  rushed,  head  up,  at  the 
fences ;  easing  it  round  turns  ;  sitting  down  on  the 
flat  to  see  how  it  could  move. 

"  How  much  for  the  two  ? "  he  asked,  slipping 
down. 

Martin  Slattery  put  on  his  most  guileless  expression 
and  said  as  it  was  two,  and  not  one,  he  would  take 
two  hundred  and  ninety. 

The  Hermit  walked  quickly  round  the  horses.  He 
looked  at  the  brown's  hocks,  and  lighted  on  a  last 
year's  blemish  on  the  bay. 

"  I  want  them.  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  and 
eighty,"  he  said.  "  And  that's  more  than  they're 
worth." 

Young  Martin  leant  against  a  haystack  in  pained 
horror.  "  When  he  put  them  at  their  lowest,  too. 
It  was  useless  to  talk  of  a  hundred  each  for  such 
horses." 

The  Hermit  explained  easily  that  he  wasn't  doing 
so.  He  was  talking  of  one  hundred  pounds  for  the 
bay,  bad  puller  as  he  was,  and  eighty  pounds  for  the 
fired  brown. 

Slattery  dismissed  the  horses  more  in  sorrow  than 
in  anger.  As  a  favour  he  might  take  off  ten  pounds 
for  luck  :  might  even  stretch  it  to  fifteen  ;  but  other- 
wise— "  Feed  thim  horses,"  he  said  sorrowfully,  "  an' 
clane  thim,  Joe." 

But  Joe  had  disappeared.  His  absence  was 
followed  by  the  hurried  appearance  of  Mrs.  Slattery, 


The  Night  of  the  Party  275 

a  comely  woman  of  fifty,  to  insist  on  their  taking 
refreshment. 

"Don't  I  recall  ye  well,  Misther  Grattan  ? "  she 
said,  wringing  his  hands.  "  Many's  the  horse  Slattery 
sold  ye,  an'  I  wish  he  could  come  in  to  see  ye  him- 
self. He'd  not  let  ye  go  hungry,  so  will  ye  take 
a  bit?" 

The  Hermit  cast  one  gruesome  thought  on  what 
the  present  appearance  of  Slattery  would  be  like,  and 
accepted  politely. 

"  He  wasn't  as  hard  a  man  as  his  son,"  said  the 
Hermit,  watching  the  pained  back  view  of  Martin  as 
he  gave  some  directions  to  a  helper. 

Mrs.  Slattery  said  young  men  were  apt  to  be  too 
clever,  and  wished  to  know  if  it  would  be  whisky 
or  a  cup  of  "  tay." 

The  Hermit  chose  tea  hastily,  though  from  old 
experience  he  knew  it  would  resolve  itself  into  a 
square  meal  of  boiled  eggs  and  fried  bacon  and  hot 
bread  and  jam,  and  many  other  things  unsuited  to  a 
mid-day  meal. 

Moira,  her  existence  blotted  out  of  the  flood  of 
reminiscence  flowing  from  Mrs.  Slattery's  lips,  sat 
down  modestly.  The  Hermit  inquired  for  Katie, 
asking  if  she  was  now  married. 

Mrs.  Slattery  shook  a  troubled  head.  Her  heart, 
it  would  appear,  was  broke  from  making  matches  for 
Katie,  whom  a  convent  education  had  rendered  too 
fine  for  ordinary  men. 

"But  I  think  I  have  her  off  with  Joe  Magee's 
nephew,"  said  Mrs.  Slattery,  after  a  lusty  call  to  her 
absent  daughter  to  come  to  Mr.  Grattan. 

A  hurried  pattering  overhead  was  accelerated  to  a 


276          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

swift  scampering,  and  then  Katie,  very  fine  and  very 
breathless,  appeared.  She  was  rubbing  her  hands  as 
she  came. 

"  Don't  mind  the  wet  on  me  hands,  Misther  Grat- 
tan,"  she  said  as  she  held  them  out.  "  Tis  only  the 
way  I'm  afther  washin'  them." 

The  Hermit  wrung  the  moist  hands  warmly,  and 
tea  proceeded.  Moira,  who  was  still  neglected,  ate 
eggs  and  bacon  thoughtfully.  This  was  the  Hermit 
in  quite  a  new  light.  In  absence  of  mind  she  even 
helped  herself  to  plum  jam  on  to  her  bacon,  and  found 
they  did  not  agree. 

The  Hermit  rose  at  last.  It  was  after  two,  and 
Moira  wanted  to  be  back.  He  said  no  more  about 
the  horses  until  he  was  leaving. 

"  Sorry  we  couldn't  deal,"  he  said  as  he  left.  "  I'll 
just  look  in  at  old  Heinihan,  to  see  if  he  has  a  screw 
for  me  for  to-morrow.  Good-bye." 

Heinihan,  another  old  friend,  was  not  at  home. 
There  seemed  nothing  for  it  but  the  black  or  grey 
hireling  from  Malone. 

They  went  slowly  back  by  the  lane,  past  Slattery's 
house,  and  on  by  the  narrow,  twisting  roads  to  Bally- 
dare.  As  they  drove  round  the  corner  above  Tulla 
covert,  they  were  astonished  to  see  young  Martin 
Slattery,  riding  a  blood  horse,  galloping  across  the 
field  towards  them.  Both  he  and  his  steed  were  hot 
and  breathless ;  also,  his  coat  was  not  innocent  of 
mud  stains. 

"  I  galloped  straight  across,"  he  explained,  "  to  cut 
ye  off,  Misther  Grattan.  I'll  take  yer  offer.  I  wint 
in  directly  you  were  gone,  and  I  tould  me  mamma 
all — the  price,  and  what  was  betune  us.  '  Martin,' 


The  Night  of  the  Party  277 

says  she,  '  don't  be  a '  (Martin  bit  off  a  red  word 

with  difficulty),  'don't  be  a — a— damn  fool,'  says 
she,  '  but  take  the  money  the  gintleman  offered 
ye.'  Them's  the  very  words,  now,  me  mamma  used 
to  me." 

The  Hermit  examined  the  steering  gear  minutely  ; 
when  he  raised  his  head  he  had  ceased  smiling.  He 
gave  directions  concerning  the  taking  of  his  steeds  to 
the  meet ;  made  no  comment  as  to  the  altered  price, 
and  drove  on. 

"  I  hope  I  shan't  have  you  late,  Moira,"  he  said  as 
they  raced  on. 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  Moira. 

"  For  bridge  and  Captain  Milton,"  said  the  Hermit 
thoughtfully. 

The  little  drawing-room  was  full  as  they  got  in. 
An  absence  of  noise  never  marked  the  Considines' 
afternoons.  Captain  Milton  was  romping  with  Kath- 
leen, who  accepted  it  absently  and  without  enthusiasm  ; 
though  her  retaliation  of  a  glass  vase  full  of  water  was 
not  ill-aimed.  Cromartin  was  putting  out  the  bridge 
things.  Biddy  had,  as  directed,  left  decanters  and 
syphons  on  a  table  in  the  corner. 

Another  motor  turned  in  after  theirs,  and  Moira 
saw  with  pleasure  it  was  Dennis  Vereker.  She  whis- 
pered the  news  to  the  Hermit.  He  grew  suddenly 
white  and  quiet. 

"So  that  is  young  Vereker.  He  must  be 
twenty  now,"  he  said.  "No;  don't  introduce  me, 
Moira." 

Dennis  lifted  a  parcel.  "  A  book,"  he  said.  "  No ; 
I  really  can't  come  in,  Miss  Moira.  It's  a  book  your 
sister  lent  to  me." 


278  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Moira  demanded  with  asperity  his  reason  for  not 
taking  tea  with  them. 

"  I — I  can't,  really "  ;  and  Dennis  stumbled  and 
blushed  over  the  simple  words. 

"  Eva's  in,"  said  Moira. 

Dennis  looked  through  the  window.  Eva,  her  hair 
shining  and  her  pretty  face  rather  grave,  was  throw- 
ing down,  almost  angrily,  a  flower  which  Milton  had 
pelted  her  with.  A  sudden  onslaught  from  Kathleen 
involved  her  in  a  moment's  romping,  from  which  she 
had  emerged  ruffled  and  clearly  annoyed.  Dennis's 
lips  set  suddenly.  His  mother  was  stronger  than  he 
was.  He  looked  again — for  Eva,  who  knew  he  was 
there,  never  looked  out — and  then  he  bent  over 
the  car. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  blurted  out.  "  My  mother's  wait- 
ing." Yet,  as  his  car  sped  over  the  wide  road  to  the 
town,  weak  Dennis  Vereker  knew  that  his  eyes  were 
full  of  tears ;  knew  that  he  had  forged  his  slave 
chains  afresh  in  treble  steel ;  had  bound  his  boyish 
hands  with  ropes  which  would  never  part. 

"  His  father's  son,"  said  the  Hermit.  "  Poor  boy  ! 
his  life  is  as  much  moulded  as  though  it  had  been 
passed  into  one  of  Baby  Geoghan's  '  shapes.'  Well ; 
you  don't  lack  gaiety,  Moira,  in  your  world." 

He  sat  apart  and  quiet,  saying  he  would  watch  the 
bridge — a  quiet  which  was  almost  pungent  when  they 
played  their  hands. 

Borrisdeane  had  not  reached  the  stage  of  acute 
bridge  ;  but  the  Hermit  had  been  a  whist  player,  and 
Moira's  reckless  disregard  for  any  ordinary  rules  made 
his  eyebrows  wander  to  his  hair. 

He  came  and  sat  close  to  her  once,  watching  her 


The  Night  of  the  Party  279 

fumble  over  a  return  and  distinctly  throw  away 
the  game.  It  was  rather  a  troubled  little  face  as 
he  looked  down  on  it,  with  new,  faint  lines  about 
the  mouth — lines  which  had  no  business  to  be 
there. 

"  My  dear  girl  " — Milton  was  a  man  who  permitted 
himself  these  familiarities — "  My  dear  girl,  if  you 
had  bottled  your  ace,  and  had  returned  a  spade, 
we  must  have  won  four  tricks.  You  are  a  little 
duffer." 

Moira  shook  her  head  dolefully,  and  the  Hermit 
looked  as  if  an  acute  desire  to  hit  something  had 
come  across  him. 

"  A  most  expensive  partner."  Milton  added  up 
the  score  somewhat  sourly.  "  That's  seven  and  six  to 
chalk  up." 

Eva,  who  was  looking  on,  sighed  a  little.  This 
paying  of  bridge  debts  was  not  the  smallest  of  her 
troubles.  Even  at  half  a  crown  a  hundred  persistent 
losses  mount  up.  Moira  had  just  reached  the  stage 
when  her  thoughts  leaped  far  beyond  her  skill,  when 
she  essayed  coups,  and  then,  unable  to  count  cards, 
almost  forgot  what  she  had  tried  for.  Eventually 
she  might  play  well ;  but  at  present  she  was  bound 
to  lose. 

Biddy  came  in  with  tea,  and  her  inevitable  plate  of 
hot  griddle-bread  ;  but  Milton,  yawning  openly, 
declined  tea.  He  filled  a  long  glass  with  a  stiff 
peg,  and  was  about  to  drink  it  when  the  Hermit 
laid  a  gentle  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  He  had 
another  tumbler  in  his  hand. 

"You  and  I,"  he  said,  "can  go  into  the  dining- 
room." 


280          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Before  Milton  could  remonstrate  he  was  spirited 
away ;  and  as  the  dining-room  was  puffing  smoke 
from  a  dim  fire,  he  returned  in  a  peevish  humour. 
The  lack  of  ceremony  at  The  Beeches  had  been  one 
of  its  great  charms. 

After  tea  they  played  more  bridge,  and,  tired  of 
that,  fell  to  the  romping  which  so  often  passes  for 
merriment ;  and  through  it  all  the  Hermit  sat  quiet 
and  aloof. 

The  Geoghans'  party  necessitated  a  somewhat  early 
departure  for  the  men. 

"  I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  fivers."     Milton  looked  at 

his  watch  and  got  up,  and  took  Moira  aside.  "  How 
many  waltzes,  Miss  Moira,  eh  ?  " 

Moira  replied  vaguely ;  she  had  not  enjoyed  the 
afternoon. 

"Well,  the  first,  at  all  events."  If  Milton  meant 
his  voice  to  be  low,  he  failed,  for  it  travelled  clearly 
to  the  ears  of  the  others-  "  Then,  we  can  sit  out 
a  bit  and  watch  the  fun.  Don't  fill  up  until  you 
see  me." 

Moira  nodded  absently,  and  came  back  to  the  fire. 
She  was  very  much  afraid  that  she  would  not  be  able 
to  dance  at  all,  some  slight  practice  with  a  chair  having 
been  her  only  attempt  to  learn  the  art. 

"  The  world  is  rather  a  noisy  place,"  said  the 
Hermit,  as  he  watched  the  three  men  go. 

"  You  were  always  down  upon  it,"  said  Moira 
resentfully. 

"  Perhaps  I  thought  it  was  a  wide  place  for  three 
girls  to  stray  into  alone  " — his  eyes  fell  rather  severely 
upon  the  small  table  and  the  whisky  decanters. 
"  Ballydare,  in  my  day,  was  stiff  and  old-fashioned. 


The  Night  of  the  Party  281 

I  am  glad  the  hunting  people  are  all  so  nice  to  you, 
and  realise  that  you  are  only  young." 

There  was  something  in  his  voice  which  banished 
the  angry  words  which  Moira  meant  to  flash  back. 
The  Hermit  did  not  look  as  if  leaving  Borrisdeane 
had  made  him  happier. 

"  And  now  that  you've  tasted  the  sweets  of  all  this 
rollicking,  I  suppose  you'll  like  to  keep  to  the  life, 
Moira:  moving  about,  seeing  fresh  faces,  meeting 
new  people,  always  in  towns?  Young  blood  would 
never  care  for  the  stagnation  of  the  old  sea  coast. 
The  waves  and  the  lake,  and  the  fishing  in  summer, 
would  not  weigh  for  a  fraction's  space  against  this 
—fun  ?  " 

There  was  question,  more  than  certainty,  in  his 
words. 

Moira  stared  hard  at  the  glowing  fire.  She  seemed 
to  hear  the  plash  and  shiver  of  the  lake  through  reeds 
and  on  stony  beach,  hear  the  distant  boom  of  the  sea, 
feel  the  west  wind  on  her  face,  the  ecstasy  of  a 
suddenly  tightened  line,  the  triumph  of  the  moment 
when  a  tired  fish  was  slipped  into  the  net ;  more,  to 
feel  again  the  peace  of  that  old,  dull  life,  where  there 
were  no  disappointments,  and  no  ring  of  cold, 
disapproving  faces. 

The  tug  at  her  heart  hurt  her ;  her  eyes  might 
smart,  but  she  answered  flippantly.  It  was  no 
time  to  let  the  Hermit  see  the  failure  of  the 
enterprise. 

"  Oh  yes,  I'd  love  to  move  about  ;  to  meet  heaps 
of  people.  Life  at  Borrisdeane  was  mere  stagnation — 
where  one  saw  no  one,  knew  no  one."  She  glanced 
across  at  Eva,  who  was  lost  in  unhappy  thought. 


282          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  Here  it  is  different,"  said  Moira.      She  would  like 
to  have  this  kind  of  fun  always. 

"I  ...  see,"  said  the  Hermit,  and  his  voice  dropped 
from  question  to  quiet  sadness  :  and  his  fists  clenched 
once  or  twice,  as  if  an  active  animosity  was  mixed 
with  his  musings. 

At  a  little  before  eight  two  Miss  Considines, 
radiant  in  flimsy  ball  gowns,  were  ready  to  start. 
Eva  was  nervous,  because  the  scanty  sleeves  which 
she  had  insisted  on  copying  seemed  to  leave  her 
bare  and  unprotected  now.  Moira  was  a  blaze 
of  assertive  blue,  with  some  beads,  which  the 
Hermit  wanted  to  burn,  wound  about  her  soft  throat. 
Nothing  would  induce  Kathleen  to  go.  She  was 
studying  a  bulky  volume,  which  she  said  Moroney 
had  sent  her  by  post,  so  that  she  might  realise 
what  a  hound  was  worth  next  time  she  jumped 
on  one. 

"  And  I  thought  I'd  better  know  before  to-morrow, 
for  Malone  is  lending  me  a  young  one  that  pulls," 
said  Kathleen,  settling  to  her  book. 

The  Hermit  put  the  hood  up  and  drove  them  across. 
Needless  to  say,  they  were  too  early.  Baby  Julia, 
whose  amplitude  of  hair-pads  neutralised  her  lack 
of  bodice,  burst  upon  them  five  minutes  after  they 
arrived,  and  said  the  breath  was  out  of  her  from 
pulling  at  Claara's  body.  "  An"  we  had  to  lay  a  bit 
of  stuff  under  the  lacing  at  the  last,"  confided  the  Baby. 
"  My  !  I  knew  we  were  late.  There's  mamma  in  the 
kitchen  yet,  with  her  puce  dress  above  on  the  bed 
in  her  room." 

Cornelius,  whose  shirt  front  suffered  from  lack  of 
stamina,  and  whose  white  gloves  would  go  on  no 


The  Night  of  the  Party  283 

farther  than  his  thumbs,  now  bounced  into  the 
room  to  hang  over  Eva,  and  pray  for  dances. 

"  You  could  lay  your  heel  on  the  floor  and  'twould 
slip  to  your  head,"  he  told  her.  "  Baby  has  it  that 
thick  with  French  chalk.  An'  the  fiddler  is  tuning  up 
already,  inside." 

People  began  to  straggle  in.  It  was  Moira's  first 
dance,  and  she  watched  breathlessly.  The  fine  young 
women  of  the  afternoon  emerged  from  much  cloaking 
in  a  vanity  of  strange  garments,  Baby  Julia's  white 
silk,  shining  moonlike  amid  a  cloud  of  lesser  stars. 
There  were  too  apparent  evidences  of  neck-bands  cut 
off  for  the  occasion,  skirts  not  intended  for  dancing, 
among  the  visitors. 

"  I  just  slashed  a  bit  off  the  top,  and  bowed  up  a 
few  yards  of  ribbon,  and  wouldn't  it  do  for  court?  " 
confided  one  young  woman  happily,  as  she  embraced 
the  Baby,  and  said,  "  Hello,  Corny,  ain't  you  grand  in 
your  new  black  coat  ?  "  to  the  heir  of  the  house. 

Moira,  the  Hermit  by  her  side,  moved  into  the 
dancing-room.  He  was  very  tall  and  remote  among 
the  slouching  youth  about  him  ;  very  grave,  as  he 
asked  Baby  Julia  to  dance,  and  declined  other  in- 
troductions courteously. 

"  They'll  tear  me  for  spite,"  said  the  Baby,  "  they 
will,  indeed.  Katie  Malone  has  her  eye  on  me,  asking 
you.  ...  If  you  could  give  her  one  twist  ?  " 

But  the  Hermit,  now  exceedingly  grave,  because 
torn  by  desire  for  laughter,  could  not. 

"  She's  eating  the  face  off  Tommy  Quin,"  said  the 
Baby  sorrowfully,  "because  he  wants  to  pull  her  out. 
It's  no  go,  Katie,"  she  shrilled  loudly ;  "  you  may  as 
well  take  Tommy." 


284  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  It — it " — the  Hermit  was  a  little  breathless  as  he 
spoke — "  it's  wonderful,  Moira.  Supposing  we  dance. 
Not  this  one — you're  engaged — but  later."  He 
wrote  his  name  on  her  programme,  bowed  and  moved 
to  Eva,  who  was  striving  to  escape  from  Cornelius. 

Cornelius  left  with  reluctance,  and  moodily  offered 
his  support  to  Moira.  "Will  we  take  a  turn?"  he 
said.  "  The  walls  can  stand  without  you." 

Moira's  first  essay  of  dancing  represented  a  bumping 
chaos,  a  firm  clasping  of  Cornelius,  as  he  swung  her 
from  the  ground,  and  the  absolute  certainty  of  striking 
into  every  other  pair  as  they  met  them. 

Cornelius  swooped  at  the  floor  as  he  would  have  at 
a  gap  out  hunting.  If  he  heard  the  music,  it  was  not 
apparent  in  his  steps,  and  when  he  landed  poor, 
panting  Moira  up  against  a  sofa,  he  wiped  his  brow 
and  said,  "  'Twas  grand." 

"  There's  nothing  like  a  bit  of  steam,"  said  Cornelius. 
"  I'm  thinking  'twas  we  knocked  Mary  Raffarty,  that's 
getting  up."  He  pointed  to  a  maiden  in  pink,  who 
was  rising  from  her  knees. 

Moira,  faintly,  thought  it  was. 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  the  one  to  marry  that  one," 
ruminated  Cornelius.  "  She  threw  an  eye  on  me  now 
like  the  blow  of  a  hatchet." 

When  the  dance  was  ended,  Cornelius  abandoned  his 
partner.  As  she  would  not  take  lemonade  or  tea,  he 
seemed  to  have  no  further  use  for  her. 

Milton  was  late,  and  Moira  again  found  herself 
alone.  The  fine  young  women  were  all  enjoying 
themselves  hugely.  Where  they  had  not  a  partner 
apiece,  they  were  not  too  proud  to  club  round  any- 
thing in  dress  clothes,  and  take  small  shares  in  its 


The  Night  of  the  Party  285 

protecting  presence.  Their  giggles  rose  shrilly.  Miss 
Clara  and  the  Baby  were,  on  the  other  hand,  some- 
what absent,  for  the  expected  party  from  the  barracks 
were  fashionably  late. 

"  I  have  not  been  to  a  dance,"  said  the  Hermit, 
"  for  over  twenty  years."  He  appeared  suddenly  by 
Moira's  side,  and  the  fickle  groups  turned  awe-struck 
to  stare  at  his  tall,  grave  presence,  and,  to  them, 
eccentrically  cut  dress  clothes. 

"  Denny  Conellan  below  in  Mill  Street'd  give  you 
a  better  fit  than  that,"  said  Katey  Malone's  brother 
scornfully. 

The  Hermit  said  it  was  all  so  interesting.  The 
lady  musician,  advancing  from  the  piano,  tweaked 
out  a  card  containing  the  number,  and  installed  2 
to  replace  it.  The  Hermit  looked  down  at  Moira. 
"  If  I've  not  forgotten  how,"  he  said,  "let's  dance." 

They  slipped  into  the  crowd.  The  other  couples, 
flopping  or  bounding,  ceased  to  be  nightmare-like 
menaces.  Bare  arms  and  black  sleeves  were  glided 
by  untouched.  Squeaks  of  "  Easy  now,  Mr.  Slattery," 
"  Oh,  have  a  care,  Cornelius,  you're  squeezing  me," 
floated  and  were  lost.  The  music  was  a  stirring 
rhythm,  bending  awkward,  unaccustomed  feet  to  its 
command. 

Moira  forgot  the  painful  steps  she  had  learnt  with 
the  chair,  she  let  herself  swing  as  the  Hermit  danced, 
and  her  soul  thrilled  to  it.  In  and  out,  he  never  lost 
an  opening,  never  seemed  to  hesitate,  but  danced 
until  Moira  seemed  to  float  in  a  misty,  music- 
thrilled  haze,  with  wraiths,  half  seen,  passing  and 
passed. 

"Giddy,    eh?"      The    Hermit's    voice   sounded   a 


286          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

long  way  off.     "You  would  dance  perfectly,  Moira, 
if  you  practised." 

Moira  rested,  breathless,  watching  the  other 
couples  as  they  flopped,  and  swooped,  and  lobbed, 
in  a  variety  of  strange  attitudes,  past  her.  The  music 
died  with  a  last  crashing  chord. 

"  Your  friend  is  late,  very  late,"  said  the  Hermit. 

Moira's  heart  was  distinctly  sore.  She  considered 
that  the  devotion  which  every  one  chaffed  her  about 
ought  to  have  curtailed  Milton's  dinner,  and  brought 
him  in  time  for  the  dance.  Unless  she  accepted  the 
invitations  of  the  so-far-unknown  youths,  her  card 
appeared  likely  to  remain  empty,  for  the  Hermit  had 
not  asked  her  to  dance  again.  Eva  was  wrestling 
with  the  attentions  of  Cornelius,  and  wearing  a  worried 
expression  as  she  did  so. 

At  that  point  the  doorway  was  rilled  by  four  black- 
coated  figures,  and  the  Baby,  dropping  an  unoffending 
partner  as  though  his  presence  stung  her,  fled  to  meet 
them. 

"  And  then  you  might  have  left  the  bit  of  pudding 
and  come  along,"  she  said  reproachfully. 

"  I  wouldn't  put  it  the  same  way,  but  I  think  it," 
said  the  Hermit. 

Milton  did  not  hurry,  but  seeing  Moira,  he  came 
across. 

"  Savage  hour  to  begin,"  he  said.  "  You've  kept 
my  dances  all  right,  I  hope.  Supper  too  .  .  .  ." 

The  Hermit  caught  the  glint  in  Moira's  eye.  "  Miss 
Considine  is  taking  supper  with  me,"  he  said,  and 
Moira  smiled.  The  Hermit  might  be  trying,  but  he 
always  seemed  to  do  the  things  she  wanted  him  to. 

Milton's  evening  was  not  at  first  quite  what  he  had 


The  Night  of  the  Party  287 

hoped  for.  Moira  was  angry,  and  no  longer  quite 
complacent.  She  accepted  other  partners  freely,  and 
showed  a  complete  lack  of  enthusiasm  when  he  sug- 
gested sitting  out  for  two  or  three  dances,  behind 
some  of  the  carefully  arranged  screens.  Thoughts 
came  upon  her,  spurred  to  life  by  the  lilt  of  the 
dance  music,  and  for  a  space  she  was  absent  and 
absorbed. 

But  the  night  was  young.  The  Hermit,  who  did 
not  dance  again  with  her,  stopped  her  as  she  was 
leaving  the  room. 

"  About  supper,"  he  said  ;  "  that,  of  course,  was 
only  to  help  you  out,  Moira.  Probably  you'd  prefer 
not  to  change  those  dances." 

Moira's  head  went  up :  a  sudden  bitterness  came 
cold  about  her  heart.  With  the  quickness  of  retort 
which  so  often  led  her  into  trouble,  she  told  the 
Hermit  she  had  no  idea  of  troubling  him ;  crossed 
his  name  viciously  from  her  programme,  and  thence- 
forth flirted  with  Milton  to  the  depth  of  his  desire. 

The  Hermit  looked  at  her,  and  led  Miss  Clara 
into  the  fray,  abandoning  his  reserve. 

"  I  have  never,"  he  said  to  Eva,  "  enjoyed  anything 
so  much  in  my  life.  I  danced  with  a  Miss  Reidy,  who 
said  'twas  lovely,  six  times,  and  then  told  me  I  might 
as  well  call  her  Katie,  as  she  had  a  sister  older  than 
herself."  The  Hermit  grinned  with  a  fervour  which 
was  new  to  him. 

"  And  you  did  it  ?  "  said  Eva. 

"  I  did.  I  also  squeezed  her  fondly,  and  she  said 
'  Behave ! ' "  The  Hermit  burst  into  unchecked 
laughter.  "  If  you  and  Moira  weren't  here,  I  would 
not  have  missed  it  for  gold.  At  present  I  am 


288  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

awaiting  the  inevitable  bursting  apart  of  Miss 
Claara's  body." 

"  Hurry  down  to  supper,"  said  Baby  Julia  to  them, 
"  before  the  breasts  are  off  the  turkeys." 

The  Geoghans  would  let  no  man  starve.  There 
were  rows  of  turkeys  and  chickens,  and  even  geese ; 
mighty  hams  and  several  pigs'  heads,  flanked  by  hot 
potatoes  and  the  home-made  jellies,  which  were  back- 
boneless  in  appearance.  Champagne  flowed  freely. 
The  punch-bowl  smoked  and  flung  out  a  head- 
swaying  steam. 

Papa  himself  carved  frantically,  heaping  plates 
with  food. 

"  There's  no  bits  of  things  in  'aspect'  jelly  here,"  he 
said,  as  he  laid  half  a  turkey  before  Eva — "just  to 
chill  your  stomach  an'  tantalise  it.  That  bird  was  fed 
on  barley  meal  for  three  months." 

The  Hermit  made  faint  protest  before  a  fresh 
mountainous  helping.  Moira,  who  had  no  appetite, 
was  pecking  at  several  pounds  of  ham  carved  for 
her  by  Cornelius. 

"And  the  champagne's  good,"  said  the  Hermit. 
"  I  wonder  if  the  old  fellow  remembers  me." 

Supper  was  at  eleven,  and  they  might  have  stayed 
late  had  not  Eva  broken  up  their  evening.  She  had 
left  the  room  with  Cornelius,  who  was  not  sober,  and 
was  sitting  out,  when  the  sound  of  a  ringing  slap  was 
followed  by  the  frantic  appearance  of  the  Geoghans1 
heir  holding  his  hand  to  his  cheek,  and  the  subsequent 
appeal  of  Eva — following  hastily — to  the  Hermit,  to 
get  her  out  of  this  awful  place,  as  Cornelius  had  tried 
to  kiss  her. 

It  was  not  quite  as  easy  as  it  looked.     Cornelius, 


The  Night  of  the  Party  289 

distraught  by  grief  and  rage,  first  drank  half  a  bottle 
of  champagne,  and  then,  for  some  occult  reason  known 
only  to  himself,  perhaps  to  show  his  complete  indif- 
ference, sped  into  the  coolness  of  the  night,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  wind  up  and  attempt  to  drive  the  Hermit's 
motor.  The  Hermit  arrived  to  find  his  car  buzzing 
impotently  against  a  locked  gate,  with  the  steering 
gear  irretrievably  damaged,  and  Cornelius  declaring 
he  knew  all  about  motors,  abusing  this  particular  one 
for  its  want  of  power  in  hill  climbing. 

"  On  the  top  speed,  she  can't  do  it,"  cried  Cor- 
nelius furiously. 

The  Hermit  with  firm  despair  removed  the  youth, 
seating  him  upon  a  stone  to  sober,  while  he  bribed 
a  waiting  coachman  to  drive  them  home ;  Cornelius, 
who  was  now  forgetting  the  car,  rising  at  intervals 
to  hold  his  sleeve,  and  assure  him  that  he,  Cornelius, 
would  never  love  again. 

The  Hermit  advised  him  not  to,  and  with  many 
protests  took  his  leave,  with  a  plea  of  Eva's  indis- 
position. 

Baby  Julia  was  not  to  be  hoodwinked.  "  Tisn't  a 
headache  at  all,  but  Corny's  goings  on,"  she  said 
scornfully.  "  Indeed,  you  needn't  mind,  Miss  Eva, 
for  he'd  kiss  the  cook  after  his  supper;  and  he's 
daft  about  you." 

Eva  accepted  this  compliment  without  comment. 

"  And  you're  disturbing  your  sister,"  said  the  Baby. 
"  She's  stuck  in  a  corner  these  three  dances." 

The  light  of  amusement  died  out  of  the  Hermit's 
eyes.  He  went  down  the  passage  and  called  Moira 
coldly. 

She  was  sitting  in  a  corner,  but  she  came  with 

19 


290  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

alacrity,  Milton's  manner  suggesting  that  if  he  had 
not  followed  Cornelius's  example,  he  had  again  not 
neglected  papa's  punch. 

Moreover,  as  they  settled  themselves  into  the 
borrowed  brougham,  Moira  remarked  tartly  that  she 
thought  dances,  if  people  wouldn't  dance,  were 
exceedingly  foolish,  and  rubbed  her  arm  as  if  some- 
thing had  offended  it. 

They  drove  past  the  gloomy  figure  of  Cornelius, 
still  resting  in  the  cold,  and  Eva,  with  a  sudden  laugh, 
told  her  tale. 

"  Cornelius  was — upset,"  she  said,  "  and  he  would  sit 
out.  And  he  said  my  hair  was  like  the  hair  on  his 
chestnut  horse,  'twas  that  shiny,  or  maybe  'twas  more 
like  a  new  doll's,  and  my  eyes  were  blue  as  his 
mother's  old  china  set.  And  if  I'd  say  the  word 
he'd  go  to  papa  and  get  a  dispensation  if  he  had  to 
go  on  his  own  two  knees  to  Rome  for  it,  and  when  I 
didn't  say  the  word  but  tried  to  go  he  ...  and  I  think 
his  face  will  be  sore  to-morrow,"  added  Eva  after  a 
pause,  "  for  I  had  my  fan  in  my  hand.  The — the — 
wretched  creature,"  she  cried,  passing  from  merriment 
to  sudden  wrath. 

"  You  must  never,"  said  the  Hermit,  "  go  near  those 
people  again.  Miss  Kate  Reidy,  no  doubt,  would  not 
have  objected.  I  think  at  Borrisdeane  you  would  not 
have  cared  to  know  the  Geoghans. 

Moira  was  amazed  to  find  a  sudden  unbidden  tear 
trickling  down  her  nose.  She  wiped  it  off,  and  imme- 
diately snapped  at  the  Hermit,  because  she  did  not 
know  why  it  had  come  there 

Moira  went  to  bed.  The  Hermit,  before  he  walked 
home,  stood  talking  to  Eva. 


The  Night  of  the  Party  291 

"  I  suppose  it's  been  for  the  best,"  he  said.  "  Many 

things  may  happen  down  here.  You "  he  checked 

himself,  remembering  Moira's  caution  about  Dennis 

Vereker,  "  and  Moira .  That  is — she  cares  for  that 

fellow  Milton — I  suppose.  He's  always  here.  It— it 
will  be  settled,  Eva?" 

Eva  shook  her  head  thoughtfully.  "  Moira  has  said 
nothing  to  me.  I  know  nothing,"  she  answered — 
"nothing,  except  that  it  has  all  been  a  hideous 
failure."  And  Eva's  face  was  very  sad. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   MEETING  OF  OLD  FRIENDS 

AS  the  Daracq,  much  indisposed,  still  leant  against 
the  locked  gate  at  the  Geoghans',  the  Hermit 
accepted  the  doubtful  pleasure  of  a  drive  with  the 
roan  horse  to  the  meet.  Fate  elected  that  it  should 
be  at  Knock  Castle,  and  with  bitter  certainty  Moira 
knew  that  their  position  in  the  county's  favour  would 
be  too  speedily  made  known.  Others  would  be 
pressed  to  go  in,  they  would  be  left  severely  alone, 
and  the  Hermit's  quiet  eyes  would  read  the  truth. 
The  effect  of  these  ruminations  brought  Moira  to 
breakfast  with  an  expression  of  unchecked  gloom, 
and  her  lack  of  appetite  caused  Biddy  to  cast  asper- 
sions on  all  ball-goings  and  their  likes. 

"  Runnin'  out  without  a  screed  on  yer  necks," 
said  Biddy  severely.  "  The  like  of  that'd  upset  any- 
one's sthomach."  She  removed  the  boiled  egg  which 
Moira  should  have  eaten,  and  said  "the  cyar  was 
waitin'  on  thim,  with  Misther  Tremayne  above  on  it, 
an'  he  lookin'  mosht  unaisy." 

The  Hermit  was  "  unaisy."  The  roan  horse,  sent 
to  fetch  him,  had  enlivened  the  short  journey  from 
the  town  by  backing  into  two  coal  carts  and  upsetting 
a  perambulator.  As  he  now  circled,  despising  a  hand 

292 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends         293 

on  his  bridle,  across  the  flower-beds,  it  was  evident 
that  to-day  a  moving  and  not  a  stopping  spirit 
possessed  him. 

The  Star,  leaning  piteously  against  Gog,  was  just 
then  led  out  of  the  gate,  a  grey  and  woebegone 
dream,  every  rib  showing  under  her  dry  coat,  and  the 
roan's  temper  was  not  improved  by  the  waiting  before 
it  was  time  to  start. 

Biddy  advised  more  breakfast.  She  proffered  the 
egg  "  Miss  Moira  wouldn't  ate,  be  raison  of  the  chill 
she  got  as  she  sthept  lasht  night,"  and  on  that  being 
declined,  insisted  on  the  Hermit's  drinking  cups  of 
hot  tea. 

It  was  not  a  cheerful  breakfast  party.  Moira  sat 
wound  in  a  web  of  depression.  Eva  spluttered  out 
little  spurts  of  varied  indignation,  always  directed 
against  Cornelius,  and  the  Hermit  himself  was  very 
thoughtful. 

"  It  is  half  a  lifetime,  twenty-two  years,"  he  said 
once,  and  looking  out  at  the  stretch  of  country. 
"  I  wonder  if  people  will  remember  me — I  was  twenty- 
one  then.  Forty-three  now,  and  I  don't  believe  I've 
altered  much." 

His  years  sat  lightly  on  him.  His  fair,  soft  hair 
had  not  receded  from  his  forehead,  or  basely  deserted 
the  crown  of  his  head.  His  grave  face  was  but  little 
lined,  and  his  eyes,  when  they  were  not  sad,  were 
strangely  youthful. 

"  Lying  in  a  backwater  does  not  age  one,"  he 
said  again,  and  had  his  musings  rudely  broken  in 
upon  by  the  determined  attempt  of  the  roan  horse 
to  come  in  at  the  window,  and  the  subsequent 
remark  of  James  Dunne's  friend  that  there  wouldn't 


294          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

be  a  bit  of  the  "cyar"  together  if  they  didn't  go 
soon. 

They  drove  off  into  a  softly  clouded  day  ;  grey 
drifts  of  vapour  sailing  across  a  pallid,  misty  blue ; 
faint  gleams  of  sunlight  turning  the  distant  hills  to 
silver  in  patches.  All  the  world  seemed  to  be  going 
to  this  meet,  and  the  roan  horse  resented  the  crowd. 
Yet  he  behaved  with  discretion  until  they  turned  into 
the  narrow  road  leading  up  to  Knock,  and  a  pony 
trap,  with  a  rattling,  jingling  bell,  came  up  behind. 
From  that  moment  the  hands  of  James  Dunne's 
friend  were  fully  occupied  ;  the  car  pitched  and  rolled 
to  the  furious  plunges,  and  ever,  as  the  horse  grew 
quiet,  the  bell  arrived  again  to  set  him  wild.  The 
third  occasion — when  the  roan  grated  the  car  against 
a  wall,  and  took  them  over  a  heap  of  stones  with 
a  perilous  tilt — broke  the  silence  of  James  Dunne's 
friend.  Turning  round,  he  looked  at  the  lady  driving 
the  pony  with  a  long  and  baleful  glance  :  "  I  wish 
that  God  Almighty  could  see  her  dead  this  night,  an" 
yer  bell  along  with  her,"  he  said  heavily,  but  without 
emotion,  and  then  succeeded  in  getting  past  the  next 
trap  and  beyond  the  sound  of  the  jingle. 

The  Hermit  remarked  that  he  thought  he  would 
have  included  the  roan  horse  in  the  wish,  and  they 
arrived  at  the  meet.  It  had  seemed  to  Moira  as  they 
drove  out  that  a  breath,  colder  even  than  usual,  was 
to  be  blown  upon  them.  The  roan  gave  scant  time 
for  greeting,  but  one  or  two  women  she  knew  had 
turned  their  heads  away  as  though  they  did  not  wish 
to  see  her.  As  they  pulled  up  on  the  lawn,  horses 
and  motors  and  traps  streamed  past  them  up  towards 
the  gleaming  statues,  by  the  sweep  before  the  door. 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        295 

The  Hermit  looked  about  him  quietly,  as  if  waiting 
to  see  them  greeted  by  their  friends — waited,  with  a 
look  which  made  Moira's  cheeks  burn  miserably. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  he  said.  A  pretty  woman  was 
getting  on  to  her  horse. 

"  Lady  Anne  Knox.  She  is  very  nice."  Lady 
Anne  had  often  talked  to  Moira,  and  the  girl  nodded 
now,  smiling. 

But  the  cold  breath  was  unmistakable.  Lady 
Anne  looked,  and  deliberately  turned  away.  The 
roses  on  Moira's  cheeks  faded  sharply :  she  said 
nothing.  There  was  clearly  something  wrong.  As 
the  Hermit  slipped  from  his  coat,  Moira  was  moved 
to  an  "  Oh  !  "  of  unstinted  admiration,  and  then  sat 
staring  at  him  with  thoughtful  eyes. 

Other  people  passed :  Mrs.  Bellew,  Mr.  McArtney, 
and  they,  too,  looked  away  with  clear  intent. 

"  Grattan  !  "  It  was  a  positive  cry  of  welcome. 
Old  General  Knox  came  trotting  across  the  grass. 
"  Noll  Grattan.  After  all  these  years.  One  would 
know  you  anywhere." 

"  And  you.  You've  grown  younger,"  said  the 
Hermit 

He  was  only  the  first.  In  a  few  minutes  Moira 
saw  the  Hermit,  the  man  she  had  so  loftily  looked 
down  upon,  surrounded  and  welcomed  by  these 
people  who  had  been  so  cold  to  her.  They  engulfed 
him,  carried  him  away,  and  she  drifted  near  on  The 
Star,  listening  to  the  greetings,  and  watching  the 
house  through  one  of  the  openings  in  the  trees. 

Dennis  Vereker,  coming  down  the  steps,  saw  her  ; 
she  could  see  him  stop,  and  stare,  and  hesitate.  A 
dark  figure  came  out  behind  him— his  mother's— and 


296  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Moira  then  saw  her  nod  in  their  direction — saw  Mrs. 
Vereker  take  Mrs.  Knox  by  the  arm  and  whisper  in 
her  ear.  There  was  something  fresh,  then  ;  the  bitter 
tongue  was  not  sparing  them — passive  avoidance  was 
not  enough,  they  were  to  feel  the  whip  of  active 
resentment. 

A  sob  rose  in  her  throat.  She  rode  along  the 
white  iron  railings  nearer  the  Hermit. 

"  Moroney,  come  here."  Old  Knox  was  calling  to 
every  one.  "  You  were  a  kid  in  those  days.  Here's 
Noll  Grattan  who  jumped  the  boundary  fence  out  of 
the  wood  here — and  left  us  all."  The  Master  rode 
up,  giving  warm  greeting.  "  Here,  Condon,  don't 
you  remember  young  Grattan  ?  " 

The  Hermit's  grave  face  grew  soft  at  his  welcome. 
He  rode  among  them  laughing,  exchanging  memories 
of  bygone  sport.  He  had  been  with  them  for  two 
years,  and  known  and  loved  the  place  ;  now  the  fear  of 
return,  which  had  been  heavy  upon  him,  was  passing 
swiftly  away. 

Dennis  Vereker  came  across  the  lawn  between  the 
house  and  the  railings.  "  Violet's  boy."  Old  Knox 
looked  suddenly  uneasy. 

"  I've  seen  him,"  said  the  Hermit  quietly. 

Dennis  laid  a  hospitable  hand  upon  the  Hermit's 
bridle. 

"  Come  along,"  he  said,  "  and  have  something  : 
cherry  brandy — coffee.  I'll  look  for  my  mother." 
He  led  the  horse  to  the  door. 

But  Mrs.  Vereker  came  out  again  herself — tall, 
erect,  and  handsome,  coming  slowly  down  the  marble 
steps,  between  the  four  guarding,  gleaming  statues  ; 
cold  as  they  were  ;  beautiful  despite  her  years,  her 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        297 

pale,  perfectly  featured  face  unlined,  her  dark  eyes 
clear  and  hard,  her  black  hair  untouched  by  silver. 

"  Dennis  " — she  spoke  sharply — "  you'll  not  forget 
what  I  told  you  about Dear  heaven  !  Oliver  !  " 

She  was  alive  now,  whiter  than  the  figure  she 
reeled  against,  but  the  mask  off  her  face,  and  fear  and 
pain  and  lashing  memory  driving  in  waves  across  it. 

"  You  remember  me,  then,  Violet  ? "  The  Hermit 
held  out  his  hand  and  took  hers. 

The  fear  and  pain  merged  to  a  sudden  flash  of 
triumph,  or  was  it  something  more? — some  gleam 
of  a  hope,  hard  held,  which  the  long  years  had  failed 
to  kill? 

The  people  about  seemed  to  melt  away.  Heads 
were  nodded,  whispers  hissed  from  lip  to  lip.  So 
that  was  it.  Oliver  Grattan  had  come  back  to  his 
faithless  love,  now  a  rich  and  handsome  widow.  The 
long  years  would  be  as  naught.  He  would  forgive 
the  past  and  come  to  reign  at  Knock  Castle. 

Moira,  standing  by  the  railings,  saw  the  two  meet, 
and  looking  at  them — knew.  This  was  the  boy  old 
Dunne  had  told  her  of.  It  was  Oliver  Tremayne,  the 
quiet  old  Hermit,  who  had  flashed  out  those  words 
of  fiery  scorn,  and  then  tried  to  ride  to  his  death. 
She  knew  now  why  some  strange  instinct  had  made 
her  think  so  much  of  the  story,  knew  with  a  strange 
throb  of  pain  why  she  had  so  disliked  Mrs.  Vereker. 
The  missing  note  in  her  memory  rang  out  with 
clarion  clearness  as  she  remembered  how  she  had 
seen  the  photograph  in  the  Hermit's  book  ;  how  she 
had  bent  in  rapturous  admiration  over  the  lovely 
face,  and  then  watched  him  burn  it. 

"A  picture  of  a  dead  friend,"  he  had  said.     Yet 


298          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

now  she  saw  him  walk  to  greet  the  dead,  and  stand 
isolated  while  the  hunt  got  to  horse. 

He  could  forgive ;  he  could  forget ;  could  come  all 
this  way  to  marry  the  dead  old  man's  widow  ;  live  on 
the  dead  old  man's  riches.  It  was  unlike  the  Hermit, 
yet,  with  that  dull  pain  throbbing  at  her  heart,  she 
supposed  love  planed  all  roughnesses  smooth.  This 
was  what  he  had  spoken  of  when  he  wrote  ;  this  was 
the  change  he  meant  to  make. 

Baby  Julia,  habited  in  a  bright  brown,  with  a  blue 
tie  straying  under  one  ear  and  a  false  fringe  straying 
over  another,  rode  to  her  side.  The  Baby's  aspect 
was  hostile ;  they  knew  the  long-longed-for  officers 
themselves  now,  and  no  longer  wanted  the  Considines. 
Also,  they  were  annoyed  by  the  treatment  of  Cornelius, 
who  had  been  found  asleep  by  Mary  Maguire's 
carriage,  and,  having  contracted  a  really  violent  cold, 
was  now  in  bed. 

"  Nice  stories  we  hear  about  you,"  said  Baby  Julia 
spitefully.  "  Mrs.  Vereker  has  it  all  over  the  place, 
an'  I  heard  it  coming  out — how  you  slipped  off  with 
the  captain  and  stayed  out  all  night.  Oh,  fie !  fie  for 
shame  ! "  said  Julia,  with  acid-tipped  playfulness. 

"  I  came  home  with  Mr.  Grattan,"  said  Moira 
coldly,  yet  realising  with  quick  remorse  how  foolish 
she  had  been.  She  knew  now  why  heads  were  turned 
away.  They  had  gone  too  far. 

"  Isn't  it  nice  of  him  to  say  so  now  ? "  said  Julia, 
openly  incredulous.  "  Wasn't  it  bad  luck  Mrs. 
Vereker  being  at  the  station  to  hear,  and  you  having 
your  little  spree  settled  so  nicely?  Not  that  I  mind 
a  farthing,"  said  Baby  Julia  ;  "  but  mamma  does." 

Clear    warning,   even    from    the    Geoghans,    that 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        299 

friendship  was  to  cease.  Had  she  been  mad  to  go 
to  this  girl's  house,  to  treat  her  and  her  people  as 
friends,  and  now  to  suffer  in  consequence  playful  and 
venom-tipped  impertinence  ? 

"  I  really  don't  understand  you,"  flashed  out  Moira, 
and  turned  away,  while  Baby  Julia,  who  was  not 
bad-hearted,  sucked  her  whip-handle  and  wondered  if 
she  had  said  too  much.  It  was  Miss  Clara  who  had 
urged  her  on. 

Moira  rode  across  to  Eva  just  in  time  to  see 
Dennis  Vereker  pass  her  sister  with  a  stiff,  shame- 
faced greeting. 

Eva  flung  her  head  up  and  looked  with  a  queer 
smile  at  Moira.  "  Mr.  Vereker,"  she  said  clearly. 

"  I — can't  stop.  Got  to  speak  to  Moroney."  He 
rode  on,  his  red  face  paling,  his  hands  unsteady  on 
the  reins,  and  his  boy's  heart  knew  its  own  bitterness. 

"  You  see,  Moira — I  wanted  you  to  see — that  I  shall 
never  reign  here  among  the  statues."  Eva  smiled  again. 
"  Poor  foolish  boy.  I  have  seen  your  plan  all  along, 

Moira,  but  it  only  amused  me — for ."  She  paused. 

"  My  plans  are  always  otherwise." 

"  Eva ! "  said  Moira,  unhappily  looking  at  the 
gloomy,  imposing  frontage  of  the  house. 

"  There  are  better  things  than  money  and  big,  cold 
houses,"  said  Eva.  "  I've  watched,  smiling  through  it 
all ;  and  now,  Moira,  people  are  cutting  us. ' 

Moira  knew,  and  knew  why.  Her  folly  and  her 
fault.  She  had  led  the  others  all  through ;  she  had 
taken  the  noisy  merriment  for  smartness  ;  she  had 
scoffed  at  the  elder  sister's  gentle  remonstrances. 

And  now It  had  been  fortune  or  failure,  and 

they  had  been  doomed  from  the  commencement. 


3OO  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Bitterest  of  all,  the  Hermit  was  here  to  see  the 
fulness  of  the  failure.  She  sought  for  one  redeeming 
hope,  and  could  find  none.  Money  had  melted  ;  the 
horses  were  valueless ;  in  a  few  weeks  they  must 
return  to  Borrisdeane,  to  live  there  for  evermore  : 
poor  ;  with  no  thought  of  ever  leaving  it,  with  no 
hope  to  write  in  golden  letters  across  life's  page  : 
lonely  ;  no  Hermit  to  fetch  her  to  fish  and  to  walk 
and  to  wrangle.  The  Hermit  would  be  here  in  Bally- 
dare  ;  master  in  the  big,  silent  house,  moving  through 
the  dim  corridors,  past  lines  of  gleaming  marble 
figures,  with  handsome  Violet  Vereker,  her  faithless- 
ness forgiven,  by  his  side. 

The  jog  and  pounding  of  the  horses'  feet,  the 
laughing  voices  all  round,  seemed  a  dull  boom  of 
pain,  a  menace  of  sorrow,  as  Moira  realised  how 
cruel  life  can  be  to  those  who  fail.  Soft  hands 
stretch  sweetly  to  help  success  to  a  still  higher 
pinnacle ;  hard-booted  feet  kick  failure  from  rock 
to  rock,  turning  callously  aside  as  he  bumps  to  the 
lake  at  the  bottom  of  life's  mountain.  Moira  looked 
back  ;  the  crowd  had  left  Mrs.  Vereker  and  her  old 
lover  alone.  She  could  see  them  standing  together, 
as  the  groom  led  up  a  big  thoroughbred  with  a  lady's 
saddle  on  it. 

"  Will  you  put  me  up  ?  "  As  some  one  in  a  dream, 
Mrs.  Vereker  moved  towards  the  horse.  Did  she 
remember  then  that  he  had  put  her  up  twenty-two 
years  before,  on  the  day  she  had  told  him  of  her 
falseness?  It  had  seemed  easier  to  let  him  know 
out  hunting,  where  he  would  not  make  a  fuss. 

"  If  I  have  not  forgotten  how."  He  took  her  foot 
in  his  hand,  and  before  she  lowered  her  thick  veil  he 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        301 

saw  her  turn  scarlet.     "  You  are  no  heavier,"  he  said 
quietly  ;  "  the  years  have  passed  you  by." 

Then  they  rode  on,  out  past  the  grey  stone  dragons 
by  the  gate,  across  the  wide  lawn — and  still  she  rode 
as  a  woman  in  a  dream. 

"You  came  back,  Oliver?"  she  questioned  him 
"Why?" 

"  To  see  some  friends  of  mine — the  Considine 
girls.  I  want  them  to  be  happy  here,  as  they  most 
foolishly  came."  There  was  no  emotion  on  his  face, 
save  a  quiet  look  of  relief — that  of  a  man  who,  having 
feared  a  hurt,  finds  he  is  without  pain  and  whole. 

"  Most  foolishly,"  she  said  ;  "  they  are  the  talk  of 
the  county." 

She  knew  why :  how  she  herself  had  spread  each 
bitter  story  ;  and  now,  with  some  tangible  ground, 
had  flashed  such  cold  glare  of  scandal  that  no  one 
would  speak  to  them.  Looking  ahead  to  where  Moira 
was  jogging,  silent  and  alone,  the  unreasoning  flood 
of  dislike  which  she  had  felt  before  tore  at  Violet 
Vereker's  heart 

"  To  make  them  happy  ? "  she  said  coldly.  "  It 
would  be  better  to  send  them  back  to  where  they 
came  from.  The  girl  in  front  has  made  herself 
conspicuous  with  a  Captain  Milton.  They  must  go 
away." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  Hermit  slowly.  "  You  can 
do  a  great  deal  for  them,  Violet." 

As  he  spoke  her  name  the  hope  sprang  to  life 
again — sprang  and  trembled,  dreading  a  second  living 
death.  She  had  possessed  riches,  beauty,  a  slavish 
husband,  a  docile  son,  yet  was  it  all  now  worth  it  ? 
She  had  thought  so  then.  But  now,  with  youth 


302  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

behind,  with  age  holding  his  iron  door  open  in  front, 
Mrs.  Vereker  doubted  ;  knew  that  she  had  missed 
something  which  could  never  be  hers  again. 

"  You'll  stay  for  the  winter?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  may."  His  face  clouded.  "  It  depends — upon 
what  happens.  I  cannot  read  the  future  just  now." 

"  But — you  can  forget  the  past  ?  "  The  scent  of  the 
huge  bunch  of  violets  which  she  wore  drove  to  his 
nostrils  as  she  bent  across  to  him  ;  her  eyes  shone 
under  the  thick  meshes  of  her  veil. 

"  I  can — most  happily,"  he  answered  steadfastly. 

Mrs.  Vereker  drew  a  quick  breath. 

Was  it  fate  that  they  should  ride  again  to  Tulla 
covert,  seeing  the  dark  patch  of  gorse  far  off  on  the 
green  hillside ;  that  they  should  jog  down  the  lane 
where  she  had  told  him  what  she  meant  to  do  ;  and 
stand  together  where  he  loosed  a  storm  of  fiery  words 
upon  her,  and  she  had  laughed  at  him  ? 

The  Hermit  drifted  away  a  little.  Hounds  were 
in  covert,  but  no  whimper  stirred  the  waiting 
crowd. 

Moira,  still  riding  alone,  came  up  at  the  far  side 
of  the  hedge,  and  stood  still,  letting  the  thin  Star  eat 
the  grass.  Donough  Moroney  stood  at  one  corner  of 
the  gorse  watching  intently.  He  looked  round  as  the 
Hermit  came  near. 

"  You  rode  a  great  hunt  from  here,  didn't  you  ?  "  he 
said.  "  I  was  a  schoolboy,  but  I  remember  it.  Right 
away  to  Rathallen.  It's  a  thick  gorse  now."  Then 
he  stayed  silent  for  a  minute.  "  You're  with  the 
Considines  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  Hermit  said  that  he  was. 

"They're   a   wonderful   family,"   said   the    Master 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        303 

mournfully.  "  The  little  one  has  two  hounds  lamed 
for  me.  She  will  follow  me,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden 
spasm  of  something  which  was  not  resentment. 
"  There's  one  on  a  grey  clothes-horse,  and  one  on 
a  motor-'bus ;  but  the  little  one  can  shove  you  to 
rights  off  a  bank — if  you  delay  a  minute." 

The  Hermit  smiled  at  Kathleen,  who  was  hovering 
near. 

Meanwhile  Moira,  as  The  Star  tore  up  juicy 
mouthfuls,  sat  silent  and  miserable ;  and  Mrs. 
Vereker,  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  was  unaware 
of  her  presence. 

She  talked  in  her  clear,  cold  voice  to  Mrs.  Knox, 
who  had  been  away  for  some  time.  Moira  heard  her 
own  name. 

"  They  are  impossible,  Nelly.  You  cannot  be  kind 
to  them."  With  a  suggestion  worse  than  open 
accusation,  Mrs.  Vereker  gave  the  history  of  the 
missed  train.  "  Mere  folly,  of  course,  but  one  cannot 
tolerate  folly  ...  of  that  class.  They  are  sworn 
allies  too  of  those  impossible  Geoghans.  Dennis, 
silly  boy,  was  attracted  by  the  fair  one  ;  they  laid 
traps  for  him,  but  I  put  my  foot  down.  He  under- 
stands now  that  he  is  never  to  do  anything  but  say 
good-morning.  They  can  marry  a  Geoghan,  as  they 
came  here  in  search  of  husbands." 

Each  word  beat  as  a  sledge-hammer  on  to 
Moira's  bruised  heart.  All  this,  the  fruit  of  her 
cherished  scheme.  This  to  greet  the  Hermit  when  he 
came  to  see  its  working. 

"  And  Dennis  will  obey  me,"  the  cold  voice  went 
on  slowly.  "  His  fancy  was  merely  a  passing  one. 
I  must  say  I  cannot  understand  how  a  man  of 


304  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

Mr.  Grattan's  class  comes  to  be  mixed  up  with 
them." 

Youth  knows  its  own  bitterness,  it  gathers  sorrow 
to  it  with  the  full  belief  that  having  come  it  will  never 
leave  again.  Moira  tasted  this  now  ;  high  hopes  hurt 
as  they  fall  from  their  giddy  perches.  Moira  had 
brought  the  others  here,  had  built  her  sand  castles, 
woven  her  foolish  webs,  all  on  this  trip.  And  for 
a  time  believed  she  had  been  right.  Was  there 
nothing,  no  one  triumph  or  achievement  which  could 
be  put  forward?  Hounds  were  speaking  in  covert, 
but  it  was  a  difficult  place  to  get  a  fox  away  from, 
and  the  field  knew  they  might  have  some  time  to 
wait. 

Miss  Clara  Geoghan  rode  through  the  gap  with 
Captain  Milton.  Her  expression,  as  she  spied  Moira, 
changed  to  a  lofty  unfriendliness,  and  she  bade  good- 
morning  with  full  memory  of  Cornelius's  wrongs. 
On  observing  that  Milton  meant  to  remain  with 
Moira,  the  smiles  Miss  Clara  had  turned  upon  him 
changed  to  obvious  sneers. 

"  I  wouldn't  intrude,"  said  Miss  Clara  spitefully. 
"Oh,  dear  no.  Indeed,  I  wouldn't." 

She  tossed  her  loosely  done  hair,  and  looked  frankly 
spiteful.  "  And  you  never  asked  for  poor  Cornelius," 
she  said,  evidently  loth  to  leave,  "  that's  in  bed  with 
his  lungs,  no  less.  Nicely  your  mousey  sister  treated 
him,  indeed,  and  no  fear  he'll  trouble  her  again,  I  can 
tell  you." 

"  I  trust  not,"  said  Moira  sharply. 

Milton  was  smoking  a  huge  cigar ;  the  long  delay 
in  covert  prophesied  a  poor  scent  ;  he  had  been  at 
peace  with  the  world,  but  Miss  Clara's  first  words 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends         305 

made  him  anxious.     The  story  of  the  deer  hunt  had 
also  reached  his  ears.     Good  fun  and  flirtation  were 
one  thing  ;  entwining  of  names  in  other  ways  hinted 
at    the    seriousness    of    marriage,    and    he   had   no. 
inclination  towards  this  step. 

But  Moira's  face  in  its  sorrow  was  so  pretty  that 
he  could  not  abandon  his  old  form  of  light  com- 
pliment. 

"  You're  looking  stunning,"  he  said. 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  said  Clara  Geoghan  viciously, 
and,  smiting  her  patient  horse,  rode  away. 

Moira  looked  at  Milton  steadily.  If  he  were  really 
in  love  with  her,  meant  to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  it 
would  at  least  be  something.  Whatever  her  own 
feelings  were — and  she  felt  that  she  could  not  contem- 
plate a  whole  life  spent  with  Milton — the  fact  of  an 
engagement  would  justify  the  trip. 

So  she  smiled  at  him  with  such  pitiful  sweetness 
that  Milton's  expression  deepened  to  something  even 
more  fatuous  than  its  wont. 

The  distant  notes  of  the  pack,  the  hopes  of  a  hunt, 
were  drowned  as  she  waited. 

"  Hang  silly  story  some  one's  spread  about  us," 
was  what  Milton  said.  "  I  must  get  Grattan  to  say 
what  really  happened — how  he  fetched  us,  and 
so  on." 

The  Hermit  rode  slowly  round  the  hedge,  and 
looked  hard  at  them. 

"  I  want  you,  Moira,"  he  said.  "  I  want  you  out 
here  with  me." 

"  The  very  genuine  Sultan,"  said  Milton  crossly  to 
himself. 

"Moira,    Moria.       It    has    not    been    a    success," 

20 


306  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

said  the  Hermit  unhappily.  He  had  heard  many 
things. 

The  sharp  retorts  of  the  Borrisdeane  days  were 
dead  ;  a  tear  splashed  down  on  The  Star's  ragged 
mane.  Then  Moira  recovered  herself. 

"  It  may  be,"  she  said. 

The  Hermit  looked  at  Milton  and  grunted.  His 
muttered  words  were  inaudible. 

They  rode  together  among  the  crowd.  Heads  that 
had  been  turned  away  in  the  morning  were  bent 
in  greetings  now.  He  took  her  along  the  hedge  to 
where  Mrs.  Vereker  was  standing.  The  elder  woman's 
eyes  flashed  in  sudden  anger  on  Moira's  pretty  down- 
cast face. 

"  Well,  Oliver,"  she  said,  ignoring  his  companion, 
"  we  may  finish  near  Knock.  You'll  come  in,  of 
course  ?  " 

"  I  am  with  Miss  Considine,"  he  answered,  and  his 
eyes  challenged  hers  to  a  response.  "  I've  been  here 
since  I  motored  her  home  from  stag-hunting  a  day  or 
two  ago.  I  had  arranged  to  fetch  her." 

Mrs.  Vereker  coloured  faintly,  she  knew  what  he 
meant ;  knew  he  had  heard  of  her  spreading  this 
story  and  others. 

"  I  hope  " — she  spoke  stiffly — "  that  Miss  Considine 
will  also  come  in  to  tea." 

"  Thank  you."  The  Hermit  did  the  answering. 
"If  there  is  any  of  the  car  left  we'll  send  the  roan  to 
pick  us  up,  Moira." 

"  And  you."  Mrs.  Vereker  rode  with  them  as  they 
went  on.  "  When  your  brother  dies — it  can  be  only 
months,  I  hear — shall  you  hunt  here,  Oliver  ?  You'll 
have  so  many  homes  then." 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        307 

"  The  inheritance  took  long  to  come,"  he  answered, 
looking  at  her.  "  You  have  eaten  the  twenty  years  of 
riches,  which  might  have  been  those  of  comparative 
poverty,  Violet." 

"  And  found  them  bitter  on  the  tongue,"  she 
answered.  "  I — I— am  rich  still,  Oliver." 

Moira  wrenched  The  Star  away.  Why  talk  thus 
before  her  ?  But  just  as  she  turned,  the  fox  broke  out 
across  the  field  beneath  them,  straight  for  Dirk  Hills, 
six  miles  and  more  away. 

"  Come,  Moira,  to  the  right.  Come  with  me." 
He  knew  the  way.  The  Star  thundered  by  the 
brown  horse,  pulling  wildly ;  Moira  wondering  when 
she  would  fall.  Hounds  were  racing  close  on  their 
fox ;  across  flat  fields,  fenced  with  ragged,  difficult 
banks.  Flash,  the  grey  mare  cleared  the  first,  the 
second  she  kicked  back  at.  To  every  horse,  however 
bad,  comes  one  day  when  it  will  jump.  This  was 
The  Star's.  The  impulse  to  refuse  was  not  upon  her. 
If  she  jumped  nothing  well,  she  got  over  safely  to  the 
far  side,  while  better  horses  came  to  earth.  On,  still 
racing  down  the  slope  to  the  valley,  with  no  check  or 
hesitation,  while  the  field  tailed  behind  them,  and  they 
knew  that  they  had  got  a  flying  start. 

A  huge  log  of  timber  barred  a  gap  in  front.     The 
Hermit  checked  his  horse  as  they  faced  it 
"  Can  she,  Moira  ?  "  he  asked. 

"She  can  clear  any  height,"  gasped  Moira,  her 
cheeks  pink,  her  eyes  alight,  for  this  was  something  to 
live  for. 

Over  with  a  rap  went  the  brown,  over  with  a 
soaring  plunge  flew,  the  grey.  Hounds  swung  to 
them  along  the  fence,  so  that  they  had  to  steady  their 


308  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

horses.  The  Master,  closely  followed  by  Kathleen, 
was  riding  on  their  right,  a  few  others  to  the  left. 
Pace  had  choked  slow  horses,  a  bad  start  had  left 
many. 

"  It's  going  to  be  the  old  line,  Noll " — Knox,  on 
his  striding  black,  shoved  up  beside  them — "  Dirk 
Hills  over  the  top  and  away  to  Ballybushy.  Don't 
try  the  rails  and  river  to-day,  my  boy." 

"To-day  I  want  to  live,  for  I  have  something  to 
do,"  said  the  Hermit.  "  Steady  her,  Moira.  It's 
narrow." 

The  Star  flew  the  whole  thing,  and  the  Hermit, 
watching,  groaned.  They  bent  to  the  west  now, 
along  the  swelling  rise  of  the  hills.  Fences  were 
smaller,  the  going  lighter ;  luckily,  for  horses  faltered 
in  their  stride,  blown  by  the  deep  ground  in  the 
valley.  They  viewed  their  fox  as  they  breasted  the 
hill :  he  was  crossing  through  a  spur,  going  strongly 
still. 

Horses  sobbed  as  they  toiled  up,  stumbling  through 
heather  and  over  stones,  but  the  long  descent  gave 
them  breath,  and  hounds  worked  more  slowly  over 
the  rough  ground. 

The  Star  was  tiring.  She  changed  her  stride,  and 
blundered  frequently.  A  fall  was  only  a  matter  of 
time.  As  they  galloped  on  they  came  near  a  wide 
ditch  edged  by  strong  railings,  with  a  low-built  wall 
beyond.  Hounds  dwelt  for  a  moment  where  the  tired 
fox  had  turned  sharply. 

"  I  jumped  that,"  said  the  Hermit,  pointing,  "  long 
ago." 

"  And  got  over  ?  "  Moira  asked. 

"  No,   we   struck   the   rails   this   side,   and    I    was 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        309 

thrown  against  the  wall,  as  I  thought  I  should  be.  I 
wanted  to  kill  myself.  Instead,  I  was  only  badly 
hurt.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  soon,  Moira." 

"  I  think  I  know,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  The 
old  man,  Dunne,  told  us  the  story.  Oh,  listen  to 
them.  Look  ! " 

From  scent  to  view  now,  with  a  suddenly  blood- 
thirsty crash  of  music,  every  hound  racing  for  blood. 
A  last  turn,  a  minute's  gaining,  the  bared  teeth,  and 
the  swift  death  of  a  gallant  fox  pulled  down  in  the 
open. 

Moira  was  not  destined  to  finish  the  hunt,  for  as 
they  crossed  the  road,  running  very  fast,  the  tired 
Star  caught  her  knees  in  the  bank  and  turned  over 
on  to  a  heap  of  loose  stones,  cutting  herself  badly. 
Moira  jumped  up  unhurt,  and  the  Hermit,  as  he 
poured  whisky  and  water  upon  the  mare's  wounds, 
said  it  would  be  a  long  job. 

"  And  a  good  thing,  too,"  he  said  cheerily.  "  For 
I'd  never  have  seen  you  ride  the  brute  again." 

Two  fields  away  they  could  hear  the  merry  death 
cry  of  the  hunt,  and  see  the  people  as  they  crossed 
to  their  right,  the  jaded  horses  galloping  stiffly,  and 
jumping  with  effort.  A  distant  clattering  told  them 
the  more  remote  tail  was  coming  along  the  road  they 
stood  on. 

Cromartin,  stopping,  told  them  where  the  people 
were.  Mrs.  Vereker  had  fallen,  and  gone  home  ; 
he  had  picked  her  up,  and  she  had  sent  them  a 
message  to  be  sure  to  come  in.  Eva  was  miles 
behind,  plodding  hopelessly.  Little  Kathleen,  they 
knew,  was  in .  front,  and  had  probably  got  another 
brush. 


310          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  We'll  go  to  Knock,"  said  the  Hermit.  "  Come, 
Moira.  Thanks,  Cromartin." 

The  Miss  Geoghans  had  heard  the  invitation,  their 
morning's  haughtiness  melted.  Round-eyed,  they 
had  heard  how  Oliver  Grattan  would  shortly  be 
Lord  Glendine,  with  a  large  income  and  several 
places. 

Baby  Julia  reproached  Clara  hotly,  and  now  rode 
up,  beaming  coyly. 

The  Hermit's  sotto  voce  direction  to  snub  that 
woman  hard  was  not  needed.  Moira's  sore  heart 
had  suffered  too  much  to  forgive. 

"  And  you  flying  like  a  bird,"  babbled  the  Baby. 
"  I  declare  we  could  see  you  a  mile  away.  My,  but 
that's  the  great  mare,  and  I  forgot  this  morning,  but 
mamma  hopes  you'll  all  come  to  tea  to-morrow,  you 
and  your  friend,"  beamed  Julia,  wishing  he  was  already 
a  lord. 

Moira  regretted  that  they  were  engaged. 

"  Then  I'll  bring  round  your  shapes  in  the  morning," 
said  Baby  Julia,  "  and  we'll  have  a  chat." 

Moira  said  she  was  sending  Patsy  for  the  shapes. 
Her  manner  was  sufficiently  remote  to  check  further 
advances,  and  the  Miss  Geoghans  fell  back,  fighting 
furiously. 

"And  the  way  you  an'  mamma  cautioned  me  to 
beat  them,"  wailed  the  Baby.  "  An'  we  as  thick  as 
thieves  before.  And  one  of  them  perhaps  goin'  to 
marry  that  lord  that's  to  be." 

The  Hermit  would  have  called  it  a  new  title  ;  but 
as  he  was  not  there,  Miss  Clara  only  denounced  "  all 
snobs,"  and  then  said  "  she'd  eat  the  face  off  mamma 
with  her  stories." 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        311 

"You  liked  it,  Moira?"  The  Hermit's  face  was 
very  quiet,  set  in  its  saddest  lines.  He  seemed  to 
have  been  lost  in  thought. 

"  Liked  it !  "  Moira  held  the  limping  Star  tightly. 
"  It  was  glorious.  If  one  could  hunt  year  after  year, 
upon  good  horses." 

"  Soldiers'  wives  are  so  often  in  places  where  hunting 
is  impossible,"  said  the  Hermit,  looking  hard  at  her. 

"  And  they  only  keep  ponies  and  traps  when  they 
are  in  a  hunting  country."  Moira  looked  contemptuous. 
"  But,  oh  !  think  of  the  eternity  of  Borrisdeane  winters 
after  this." 

"  And  Borrisdeane  summers ;  the  big  trout  in  the 
old  lake;  the  sea  thundering  on  the  shore:  they 
were  not  so  bad,  little  Moira." 

Voice  failed  her,  for  she  knew  now  how  good  they 
had  been.  To  hunt,  one  must  have  money.  Enjoy- 
ment was  half  swept  away  by  the  cares  which  marred 
the  world  here— snubs,  averted  faces,  over-friendly 
Geoghans.  Worst  of  all,  the  Hermit,  in  a  way- 
so  often  despised— turning  up  to  set  all  things 

straight. 

They  arrived  at  Knock  at  the  same  moment  as 
Mrs.  Vereker  and  the  roan  horse.  That  lady,  in 
fact,  was  being  driven  on  their  car,  having  broken 
her  stirrup-leather,  and  the  roan  had  treated  her 
to  a  variety  of  stops  and  bolts,  which  were  very 
trying  to  the  nerves. 

She  turned  to  welcome  the  Hermit,  her  cold  face 
very  handsome,  her  eyes  still  alight 

«  I  am   glad   you  came,  Oliver,"  she  said,  wit! 
strange  gentleness. 

"  And  I  am  glad  you  asked  us,  Violet 


3i2  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

The  flashing  look  beneath  Mrs.  Vereker's  eyelashes 
was  half  question,  half  wonder. 

"  Come  !  "  she  said  quietly. 

They  followed  her  through  the  splendidly  fur- 
nished, but  chill,  unhomelike  hall,  and  down  the 
long  corridor,  where  the  statues  gleamed  white  in 
the  dusk.  Their  voices  seemed  to  tone  to  the  still- 
ness of  it,  to  die  to  an  echoing  hum  even  as  they 
spoke  of  their  hunt. 

They  were  the  first  to  come  in.  Mrs.  Vereker  led 
them  into  the  drawing-room,  with  its  glimmer  of 
white  shaded  lights  and  dimness  of  many  shadows, 
and  treasures  of  silver  and  marble  where  the  lights 
fell. 

"  Do  you  like  my  house,  Oliver  ?  "  She  turned  to 
him  with  a  certain  pride,  standing  with  her  hand  on 
an  exquisite  copy  of  Apollo. 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  house,  Violet.  You  have 
gathered  treasures  into  it,"  he  answered. 

Moira,  standing  by  the  fire,  felt  her  heart  contract. 
The  Hermit  would  be  master  of  these  treasures  ; 
husband  to  the  cold,  treacherous  love  he  was  about 
to  forgive. 

"  It  is  a  big  house — and  lonely,"  she  said  thought- 
fully. There  was  no  mistaking  the  note  of  appeal  in 
her  voice,  the  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  could  make  it  less  lonely,"  he  said,  almost 
carelessly. 

Footmen  brought  in  tea.  A  stately  meal,  handed 
ceremoniously,  with  glimmer  of  gold  plate  and  fragile 
white  china,  and  dishes  of  expensive  sandwiches  and 
cakes  ;  and  nothing  Moira  thought  half  as  good 
as  Biddy's  hot  griddle-cakes,  which  one  must  eat 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        313 

carefully,   because  of  their  too  lavish   allowance   of 
butter. 

Dennis  came  in  then,  bringing  a  train  of  splashed, 
red-coated  men,  whose  cheery  voices  sank  and  whose 
faces  lengthened  as  they  partook  of  half-cold  tea 
and  rich  cake.  Some  openly  preferred  the  solider 
comforts  of  the  dining-room,  and  went  softly  across 
the  thick  carpet,  making  their  way  through  the  patch- 
work of  light  and  shadows  to  the  heavy  curtains 
guarding  the  dining-room  door. 

Moira,  chilled  and  hungry,  tired  by  the  inevitable 
reaction  of  the  run,  sat  quietly  in  her  corner  unnoticed, 
yet  with  keen  ears  straining  for  every  word. 

Old  Knox,  seeing  her,  came  across. 

"  In  the  dark,  Miss  Moira,"  he  said,  and  even  his 
voice  sank  to  a  half-whisper.  "  And  in  the  cold,"  he 
added,  wheeling  her  satin-covered  chair  nearer  to  the 
dull  fire,  before  he  sat  beside  her.  "  A  great  surprise 
for  us  all  to-day  "  ;  he  nodded  towards  the  Hermit. 
"  Young  Noll,  after  all  these  years.  He  can  show  us 
how  to  go  as  he  could  then,  and  I  suppose  " — the  old 
man's  voice  saddened  a  little — "  that  he  has  come 
back  to  settle  here." 

Moira  made  no  answer.  It  was  hard  that  chilled 
tea,  swallowed  two  minutes  before,  should  seem  to 
choke  her. 

"  And  yet,"  General  Knox  shook  his  head.  "  Oh, 
of  course,  it's  all  as  it  should  be — but  she  treated  him 
villainously.  If  it  had  been  done  to  me,  Miss  Moira, 
I  could  not  forgive — even  after  a  score  of  years." 

Moira  looked  up  at  the  Hermit's  quiet  face — a 
strong  face,  despite  its  gentleness ;  it  was  strange  to 
her  that  he  could.  "  A  dead  friend,"  he  had  said,  yet 


3  H          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

he  stood  beside  that  friend,  and  she  was  alive  and 
rich  and  very  handsome. 

"  Of  course  this  place  is  hers  for  life."  Old  Knox 
talked  on,  not  noticing  the  girl's  silence.  "  Hers,  with 
a  tremendous  jointure,  to  do  as  she  likes  with.  And 
the  title  may  carry  no  money  ;  I  don't  know." 

"  Shall  I  take  your  cup,  Moira  ?  "  The  Hermit  had 
seen  the  tired,  white  little  face,  and  came  over.  "  We 
had  better  go  back." 

"  I  shall  be  at  home  to-morrow,  Oliver."  Mrs. 
Vereker  followed  him.  "  A  few  people  whom  you 
would  like  to  meet.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

As  before,  he  looked  at  Moira,  and  Mrs.  Vereker 
understood.  With  some  show  of  cordiality  she  asked 
the  Considines  also. 

A  flicker  of  red  blood  warmed  her  pale  cheeks ; 
her  eyes  still  shone. 

Moira  accepted  quietly.  It  was  at  least  something 
that  the  ban  passed  by  the  county  should  be  lifted  off 
them.  "  They  would  be  glad  to  come." 

"  Thank  you,  Vi — thank  you.  This as  I  never 

thought  it  would  be."  The  Hermit's  hand  closed  upon 
his  old  love's  with  a  warmth  which  made  Moira  sniff 
contemptuously. 

They  drove  home  through  a  golden  twilight,  with 
faint  shadows  of  grey  and  purple,  and  the  distant 
hills  bathed  in  a  sea  of  pallid  gold.  The  roan  horse 
sped  swiftly,  too  anxious  for  oats  to  stop.  As  they 
lurched  up  and  down  the  steep  bridge  crossing  the 
Dare,  the  Hermit  broke  the  silence  which  had  held 
them. 

"  I  would  like  to  tell  you,  Moira,"  he  began,  "  of  an 
old " 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends        315 

"  James  Dunne  told  me  when  first  we  came,"  said 
Moira  shortly. 

"  James  Dunne,"  said  the  Hermit  blankly. 

"  Told  me  about  you — and  Mrs.  Vereker,  though 
then  I  did  not  know  that  it  was  you.  Now  I  re- 
member the  photograph  you  showed  me  at  Borris- 
deane.  It's  all  very  romantic,"  said  Moira,  with  a 
complete  lack  of  appreciation  for  romance  in  her 
manner. 

"  It  was — very  romantic  once,"  he  answered,  looking 
at  her  thoughtfully.  "  Well,  that  story  needs  no 
telling.  There  was  another — a  newer  one — which, 
since  I've  come  down,  I  think  I  had  better  keep  to 
myself  for  a  time." 

And  Moira  thought  she  knew  that  also. 

"  A  dream — and  perhaps  a  bitter  awakening,  Moira  " 
— his  voice  grew  insistent.  "  Can't  you  say  you  are 
glad  I  came  down — to  help  you  ? " 

"  It  makes  absolutely  no  difference  to  me,"  said 
Moira  tonelessly. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HOW   THE   TRIP   SUCCEEDED 

PATSY  came  to  meet  them  cheerfully.  He  said 
"  The  Star's  pastern  jint  was  hangin'  on  by  a 
bit  of  skhin,  an'  he  feared  she'd  niver  walk  agin. 
Miss  Eva,"  he  added,  "  had  come  back  two  hours  ago, 
bein*  left  two  miles  behind  the  lasht  man  of  all,  an' 
gettin'  tired  of  it.  An'  indeed  Gog's  legs  were  already 
swhellin'  up  finely." 

Having  nothing  further  pleasant  to  tell  them, 
Patsy  retired  to  his  stables,  whistling  a  Kerry  dirge. 

But  there  was  cheer  in  the  house.  Biddy  had 
built  up  a  mighty  fire.  James  Dunne  had  purchased 
turf  and  bog  wood  from  some  distant  friend,  and  the 
old  woman  was  happy. 

"  The  smhell  of  thim  would  hearten  you,"  he  said, 
as  they  came  in.  "  If  ye'd  shut  yer  eyes  ye  might 
be  back  at  Borrisdeane. 

Moira  ran  to  change,  and  returned  to  find  the 
Hermit  welcoming  a  second  tea,  and  talking  earnestly 
to  Biddy. 

This  tea  was  hot,  and  the  thickly  buttered  griddle- 
bread  light  as  a  feather ;    but   to  Moira  both  were 
chill  and  tasteless  ;  her  world  was  hollow ;  the  bitter- 
ness of  complete  failure  was  cold  upon  her.     If  one/ 
thing,  just  one  good  thing,  would  come  of  the  trip 

316 


How  the  Trip  Succeeded  317 

she  had  organised  !  Crouching  close  to  the  fire,  with 
its  faintly  pungent  fragrance,  she  lashed  hope  to  a 
faint  life.  Now  that  Mrs.  Vereker  was  once  more 
friendly,  Eva  and  Dennis  might  come  together  again. 
Her  sister  might  yet  reign  at  Knock. 

The  transparency  of  her  nature  forced  the  wish  to 
utterance  ;  she  put  it  forward  almost  roughly. 

"  As  one  outcome  for  all  you  have  spent  ?  "  The 
Hermit  saw  plainly  what  Moira  meant.  "  But  he  is 
a  weak  creature,  Moira,  who  gives  a  girl  up  at  his 
mother's  bidding.  Also,  he  is  a  mere  boy,  younger 
than  Eva ;  and  unless  I  am  and  have  been  blind,  I 
doubt  if  your  sister  would  say  '  yes.' " 

Moira  hung  her  head  sulkily. 

"  Eva  could  not  say— say  '  no,' "  she  answered.  "  It 
would  mean  too  much." 

Then  Eva,  radiant,  pink-cheeked,  a  thick  letter  in 
her  hand,  burst  in  upon  them.  It  was  evident  that 
some  great  joy  had  befallen  her. 

"  Moira  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Eva  !     has  anybody  bought  Gog  ?  "  said  Moira. 

"  Bought  Gog  !  The  poor  old  cart-horse."  Eva 
sat  down  and  got  up  again,  restlessly. 

«  Has ?"    Wild  thoughts  raced  through  Moira's 

brain.     "  Eva,  we  are  all  asked  to  Knock  to-morrow." 

"  I  shall  not  go."  Eva  spoke  with  determination. 
"Dennis  Vereker  was  rude  to  me  to-day.  Yet  perhaps 
I  may.  Oh,  Moira— Hermit ;  it's— it's— Derek  ! 

The  Hermit  remarked  without  surprise  that  he 
thought  it  would  be  Derek— some  day. 

«  It's  Derek.     He's  coming  back  at  once  to  shoe 
at  Borrisdeane.     He  wants  me  there.     He  did  not 
write  because  he  had  promised  his  father  there  should 


318  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

be  no  engagement  for  a  year  He  half  told  me.  And 
now  his  father's  dead,  and  he  has  money,  and  it's  all 
too  splendid."  Eva  rhapsodised  heartlessly,  singing 
the  late  Mr.  Carstairs'  requiem  with  complete  joy. 

It  was  at  least  evident  that  no  regret  for  Castle 
Knock  occupied  her  thoughts. 

"So,  as  far  as  that  was  concerned,"  said  Moira, 
when  she  had  kissed  her  sister,  "  we  need  not  have 
come  to  Ballydare." 

Eva,  too  happy  to  do  anything  except  think,  had 
drifted  off  again. 

"  It  would  seem  so."  The  Hermit  leant  against 
the  mantelshelf,  looking  down  at  Moira's  brown  hair, 
which  the  twilight  turned  to  red  gold.  "  And — for 
you — Moira  ?  " 

"  For  me  ?  "  She  laughed  shortly,  and  answered  a 
little  unsteadily.  "  For  me  Ballydare  does  not  seem 
to  have  worked  wonders.  But  at  least  it  is  over. 
Any  money  we  have  left  must  go  to  buy  Eva's 
trousseau.  I  shall  go  back  and  live  at  Lake  Cottage. 
And  you — I  suppose  you  will  never  come  to  Borris- 
deane  now." 

The  wide  lake,  the  beating  sea,  the  ripple  of  wind 
across  the  coarse  grasses  of  the  bog  seemed  to  rise 
before  her.  She  could  see  them  all,  and  feel  with  the 
vision  a  cold  and  lonely  wind  rushing  across  the  land. 
No  hunting  ;  no  horses  ;  no  Hermit  to  wrangle  with 
daily. 

"  I — that  would  depend."  He  stared  hard  at  her, 
and  looked  as  a  man  who  wants  to  ask  a  question, 
when  Kathleen  came  bursting  in. 

"  A  hunt — oh,  such  a  hunt.  Jim  Crow  had  never 
faltered,  never  made  a  mistake,  and  she  had  not  even 


How  the  Trip  Succeeded  319 

jumped  on  a  hound.  Mr.  Moroney  said  at  the  finish, 
it  was  because — they  were  too  far  in  front  of  me," 
said  Kathleen,  with  sudden  thoughtfulness. 

They  dined  well  off  Biddy's  cookery,  with  the 
new  maid,  whom  Patsy  would  not  even  speak  to, 
waiting  with  a  cheery  and  noisy  inefficiency.  Even 
the  homely  aroma  of  a  goose,  roasted  before  the 
fire,  and  stuffed  with  a  haunting  mixture  of  onions 
and  potatoes,  could  not  dispel  a  soberness  which 
clung  to  them.  Moira  had  a  latent  cold,  and  sniffed 
occasionally.  Eva  was  wrapped  in  the  radiant  silence 
which  looks  at  food,  and  wonders  how  people  can 
wish  to  eat ;  and  little  Kathleen  seemed  immersed  in 
the  solving  of  some  problem  of  her  own,  at  which  she 
wrinkled  her  white  forehead  and  bit  at  her  lip,  and 
nodded  to  herself  as  if  summing  up  and  giving 
judgment. 

An  absent-minded  game  of  bridge  in  the  evening 
was  marked  by  Eva  inquiring  if  she  might  play 
to  Dereks,  and  wondering,  round-eyed,  why  they 
laughed,  and  by  Kathleen,  as  she  fingered  her  cards, 
replying,  "  After  you,  please." 

The  Hermit,  as  he  bade  them  good-night,  said  he 
would  call  for  them  at  three. 

Stillness  fell  on  the  little  house,  but  not  peace,  for 
one  girl  lay  wide-eyed,  too  happy  to  sleep,  and  one, 
with  her  head  deep  in  her  pillow,  hoped  Biddy  would 
not  notice  its  salt  dampness  in  the  morning. 

The  Daracq,  speedily  mended,  came  gliding  to 
fetch  them— Eva  and  Moira— for  Kathleen  said  she 
had  business,  and  could  not  go. 

The  Hermit  looked  with  interest  at  the  plumed  hats 
with  plumes  faintly  uncurled  ;  at  the  trailing  gowns 


320  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

which  hailed  from  Ballydare  ;  but  he  said  nothing, 
for  Moira's  face,  robbed  of  its  colour  and  radiance, 
was  strangely  pretty  in  its  pallor  and  sadness. 

The  Hermit  had  heard  many  things  that  morning 
from  old  friends  at  Ballydare  :  hints  of  the  Consi- 
dines'  foolish  wildness  ;  of  how  they  had  offended 
people  there  ;  further  hints  of  the  attachment  between 
Milton  and  Moira  ;  how  he  had  conspicuously  paid 
the  girl  attention  for  some  time,  and  how,  following 
the  expedition  to  the  staghounds,  no  doubt  the 
engagement  would  be  published  immediately. 

When  the  Hermit  observed  that  he  himself  had 
fetched  Miss  Considine  home,  he  was  met  by  the 
polite  "  How-nice-of-you-to-say-it-old-chap  "  look, 
which  cannot  be  met  by  hot  words,  as  it  is  a  silent 
expression  of  thought.  He  was  therefore  in  a  gloomy 
temper  as  he  wheeled  in  at  the  gate  of  The  Beeches  ; 
distinctly  snappy  to  Patsy  when  he  tendered  infor- 
mation concerning  the  ills  of  the  horses,  and  inclined 
to  pass  at  reckless  speed  among  the  donkey  and  coal 
carts  in  the  town. 

It  was  a  grey  day,  chill  and  gloomy:  dark  masses  of 
clouds  on  the  horizon,  whisper  of  coming  rain  in  the 
sobbing  wind,  the  bare  branches  all  moving  restlessly. 

They  crouched  under  the  fur  rugs  as  the  motor 
sped  along  the  narrow  roads,  and  Moira,  whose  hands 
were  icy  from  holding  on  her  big  hat,  and  whose 
heart  was  heavy  and  sad,  never  spoke. 

Past  the  grim,  grey  lions,  pawing  endlessly  at 
unseen  foes,  through  the  regularity  of  the  flower 
garden,  where  four  white  figures  kept  guard.  The 
doors  of  Knock  Castle  swung  to  receive  them  to-day ; 
the  butler  had  no  gloomy  forebodings  of  a  scolding 


How  the  Trip  Succeeded  321 

as  he  preceded  them  into  the  warm  silence  of  the 
long  corridor.  Little  groups  of  people  were  collected 
about,  idling  in  the  hall,  playing  cards,  or  looking 
vaguely  for  a  disc  which  should  give  them  a  prize  if 
they  found  it. 

Clouds  had  been  grey  outside,  and  the  shadows  fell 
deeply  in  the  half-lighted  drawing-room.  White 
shapes  showed  ghostly  and  dim,  with  rounded  limbs 
showing  sharply  where  the  rays  from  a  lamp  touched 
them. 

There  were  only  two  or  three  people  in  the 
drawing-room.  Mrs.  Vereker  turned  quickly  as  she 
heard  the  butler  murmur  "  The  Miss  Considines," 
confidentially. 

The  radiance  of  yesterday,  the  new  hope's  faint  life 
nursed  through  a  sleepless  night  was  with  her — was 
alive  in  faintly  glowing  cheeks  and  softened  eyes. 
The  years  that  were  past  seemed  to  wither  up  as  a 
scroll  as  she  came  to  meet  them  ;  the  softness  of  old 
lace,  the  bloom  of  velvet,  the  shimmer  of  diamonds 
helping  to  fling  age  from  her. 

No  thread  of  silver  in  the  dark  hair  ;  scarcely  a  line 
on  the  cold,  handsome  face.  As  Moira  shook  hands, 
she  felt  suddenly  the  tawdriness  of  her  plumes  and 
trailing,  ill-made  skirt,  her  own  insignificance  before 
this  splendid  woman. 

"  You  are  late.  They  are  playing  bridge,  or  look- 
ing for  a  hidden  treasure."  There  was  a  roundness  in 
the  voice  which  Moira  had  never  heard  before. 

Eva  went  away  with  Cromartin.  Moira  slipped 
into  the  lurking  shadow  near  the  window  and  stood 
alone,  fingering  a  huge  cineraria — a  thing  scentless 
and  stiff,  a  mass  of  tiny  mauve  flowers. 

21 


322          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

"  We  do  not  want  to  play,  Oliver ;  we  can  talk." 

"  Of  many  things,"  he  said  quietly. 

"Of  life — and  loneliness."  She  moved  full  into  the 
lights,  daring  their  radiance.  "  Oliver,  I  ask  you 
again,  Have  you  forgiven  ?  " 

"  Completely,"  he  said  tranquilly ;  yet  he  turned 
almost  sadly  from  the  light  which  leapt  to  his  old 
love's  dark  eyes,  and  looked  about  the  room. 

"You  said,  too,  you  liked  my  house.  I  think  I 
have  made  it  good  to  look  at.  But  it's  big,  Oliver. 
Dennis  will  marry  and  go  to  Craglaughan,  and  I  shall 
be  here." 

"  Among  your  statues,"  he  answered  ;  but  his  voice 
was  not  happy. 

"They  have  been  friends  to  me."  The  woman's 
voice  shook.  "  If  I  sinned — perhaps — I  suffered." 
Her  eyes  looked  quickly  at  the  picture  of  an  old 
man — white-bearded,  bald-headed,  with  a  wrinkled, 
kindly  face.  She  watched  the  Hermit  then,  almost 
moodily. 

"  Yet  you  have  had  all  you  wanted,  Vi.  And  I — I 
had  hoped,  before  I  came  here,  to  have  what  I  want." 
The  note  of  love,  which  is  always  youth,  sounded  in 
Oliver  Grattan's  voice. 

"  I  wish,  Violet,  for  old  sake's  sake,  that  you  had 
been  kinder  to  my  friends." 

Her  glance  followed  his  to  a  figure  in  the  shadows 
by  a  distant  window,  to  a  young  face  which  came 
suddenly  into  an  arc  of  light. 

Moira  could  bear  no  more.  She  slipped  through 
a  curtained  doorway  and  found  hersell  in  a  con- 
servatory. Electric  lights  gleamed  softly  from  globes 
fashioned  like  flowers ;  there  was  wealth  of  colour 


How  the  Trip  Succeeded  323 

and  the  soft  scent  of  plant  life.  Cyclamens  flung 
up  quaint,  gay  hoods  ;  friesias,  all-powered  waxiness  ; 
and  long-stemmed  narcissi,  yellow  and  white.  Moira 
passed  among  them  to  a  cushioned  seat. 

A  wave  of  hopeless  bitterness  swept  over  Moira. 
These  things  of  sweetness  and  colour  were  for  ever 
outside  her  life.  I  f  one  thing—  but  one—  could  happen 
to  justify  the  trip  ! 

The  curtains  at  the   far  end  parted,  and  Milton 

came  in. 

«  Looking   for  a   place  to  smoke,"  he  explair 

«  What  luck  to  find  you  !  " 

She  looked  at  him  in  dreary  questioning. 
asked  her,  she  thought-as  she  had  thought  yesterday 
—it  would  be  something. 

«  And,  by  Jove,  how  shining  you  look  ! 
down  by  her,  fatuously  contented. 

Perhaps  this  was  how  men  proposed.    Moira  waited, 
the  same  look  of  dreary  questioning  on  her  f  ce. 

«•  A  little  hipped,  but  ripping."     His  fingers  sought 


nf  the  stories  afloat  ;  but  the  wan  little  face  near  h.m 
Ived  "foolishness,  and  to  attempt  at  mak.ng 

"Tuttell  meet  again.    Silly  asses  have  been  ulk- 

starchy  nonsense.     Tell  you  .  . 

to  town,  bring  a  sister,  or  any    ™*   ^  tjgmes 

you  a  good  time:  theatres,  lunches,  or,  ii 


324  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

are  good,  stand  a  frock  to  enjoy  them  in.  On  the 
Q.T.,  because,  you  see — my  people  live  there."  His 
ringers  closed  on  hers  ;  the  magic  of  her  wide  eyes 
made  his  tongue  run  faster.  "  If  things  were  different, 
Moira,  we  might  fix  everything  up,  for  I'm  really 
gone  on  you — but  one's  people  are  so  silly.  They 
wouldn't  understand  you're  only  jolly  and  good  sorts. 
They  are  so  particular  about  a  fellow's  future — and 
then  money." 

Moira  understood  at  last.  This  man — this  veritable 
last  straw  to  her  burden  of  false  hopes,  was  telling 
her — Moira  Considine,  that  if  she  were  another  class 
of  girl  he  would  almost  honour  her  by  asking  her  to 
marry  him.  She  grew  scarlet  and  then  pale,  and  he 
was  too  dense  to  take  warning.  His  fingers  pressed 
hers.  A  kiss  would  be  no  harm. 

"  You  dare  !  "  She  flashed  and  started  up,  sending 
some  flower-pots  crashing  down. 

He  stared  at  the  angry  girl. 

The  curtains  parted,  and  the  Hermit  came  in. 

"  Moira.  It  is  tea  time.  Ah!" — the  Hermit  paused. 
Then,  "  Anything  the  matter  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh — nothing  that  I  do  not  deserve.  Moira  was 
never  reticent.  "  Merely  " — she  flung  out  an  accusing 
hand — "  that  this — gentleman — has  just  told  me  he 
would  have  liked  to  ask  me  to  marry  him  if  I  had 
been  a  girl  whom  his  people  could  have  received." 

"  Oh ! "  There  was  no  surprise  in  the  Hermit's 
voice  ;  but  the  light  in  his  eyes  was  one  of  swiftly 
moving  expression.  "  Oh  !  It  seems  a  pity  that  you 
did  not  explain  to  him,  Moira,  before  he  spoke,  that 
you  were  engaged  to  me." 

Moira's   face  changed.     As  the  wave  of  hopeless 


How  the  Trip  Succeeded  325 

bitterness  had  swept  over  her,  a  second  wave  of 
comfort  dashed  the  spume  of  the  cold  waters  on. 
She  could  have  laid  her  head  on  the  Hermit's  shoulder 
and  wept.  For  the  cup  of  her  misery  had  been  full, 
and  now  she  seemed  to  move  from  outer  darkness 
into  the  warmth  and  shelter  of  a  lighted  room. 

"Yes,  it  would  have  been  better  if  I  had,"  she  said 
proudly,  looking  at  Milton. 

Milton,  who  had  been  merely  acting  according  to 
his  lights,  muttered  foolishly  ;  too  amazed  to  proffer 
explanation,  and  went  away,  his  humour  a  black 
one.  The  future  Lady  Glendine  was  quite  another 
person  from  little  foolish  Moira  Considine. 

"  Oh,  hang  it,"  said  Lancelot  Milton,  as  the  curtains 
closed  upon  him,  and  he  passed  into  outer  light. 

"  But  .  .  .  why  ?  "  asked  Moira,  her  eyes  wet. 

"It  seemed  for  the  moment  to  meet  the  case.  To 
punish  the  fellow,"  said  the  Hermit.  "  Moira,  you've 
been  foolish,  and  this  man " 

At  this  point  Moira  poured  out  her  opinion  of 
Milton  with  unmeasured  wrath.  "And  yet"— she 
destroyed  several  friesias  thoughtlessly— "  and  yet— 
I  would  have  accepted  him  if  he  had  asked  me.  ... 
Just  to  justify  my  coming  here,  to  show  we  had  done 

something  by  leaving  Borrisdeane And  after  all  "- 

the  wan  look  settled  on  her  face  again— "  he  will 
know  soon  that  it  is  not  true— see  that  you  only  said 
it  to  help  me.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  gone  away  first. 

Back " 

"  Back  to  Lake  Cottage  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  live  there  all  my  life,"  she  said. 

"Need   he   know?   Need    you   either?"  said 
Hermit  quietly. 


326          Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

She  stared  until  the  glowing  flowers  massed  and 
waved,  and  seemed  to  twist  about  her. 

"  Moira.  Do  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you 
going  out  to  Slattery's  ?  How  a  man  may  live  to  be 
glad  of  the  sorrow  he  has  suffered  ?  I  thought  you 
cared  for  this — Milton."  The  Hermit  thoughtlessly 
kicked  a  worm  which  wriggled  from  one  of  the 
broken  pots. 

"  But  you — you've  come  down  here  to  marry." 
Moira  pointed  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  Perhaps  I  have.  The  lake  will  be  blue  in  the 
spring  time,  soon,  Moira.  The  Danogue  will  be  full 
of  trout,  the  old  sea  all  a-thunder  on  the  beach.  If 
you  could  put  up  with  that  for  half  a  year — for  I  love 
my  home  there — and  hunt  in  winter,  and,  incident- 
ally put  up  with  me  also,  why  not  let  things  stand  ? 
Could  you,  little  Moira  ?  " 

The  soft  colours  melted,  and  merged  into  a  strange 
wheel  of  light  as  Moira  listened.  Could  she  ?  Having 
realised  for  a  week  how  she  cared.  Knowing  now 
that  happiness  had  suddenly  wrapped  his  sunlit  cloak 
about  her,  and  that  the  Hermit  was  the  sun  of  that 
happiness. 

And  then,  dimly,  she  realised  that  the  Hermit  was 
still  talking.  Something  now  about  a  man's  sore 
heart  and  a  wilful  child,  and  if  she  could  care 

Then  he  stopped,  for  Moira's  face  answered  him. 

"  And  oh,  it  was  just  because  I  cared  that  I  fought 
with  you,"  said  Moira,  as  she  recovered  her  voice. 
*'  Just  like  The  Star  and  the  curb,  which  she  went 
best  in  afterwards." 

The  Hermit,  drily,  said  it  was  an  excellent  simile. 

His  hand  upon   her  arm,  they  went  back   to  the 


How  the  Trip  Succeeded  327 

drawing-room,  empty  still,  save  for  the  hostess,  who 
stood  near  the  fire.  She  turned  and  started  as  she 
saw  them. 

"So,  it  is  that?"  she  said  dully.  For  his  face 
spoke. 

"  I  hope  so,  Violet." 

It  was  Mrs.  Vereker  who  moved  into  the  shadows 
now — close  to  a  marble  Clodion.  The  hope  she  had 
cherished  all  night  bit  deep  at  her  heart,  and  in  that 
anguish  died.  For  the  future  she  knew  she  would 
move  alone  in  her  quiet  house,  among  her  still  white 
companions,  with  one  live  thing,  regret,  ever  beside 
her.  Then  something  made  her  come  forward  and 
take  Moira's  face  in  her  hand,  turning  the  girl's  face 
up  gently. 

"  You  are  very  pretty,  child,"  she  said.  "  Make  up 
to  him  for  what  I  took  away." 

No  one  had  ever  seen  the  cold  woman  cry ;  yet 
what  she  wiped  from  her  cheeks  was  salt  and  strong. 

In  that  moment  Violet  Vereker  knew  the  bitterness 
she  had  dealt  to  the  man  at  her  side  twenty-two  years 
before.  She  had  Jaughed  then ;  she  did  not  laugh 
now,  as,  for  the  second  time,  she  saw  they  must  part. 

"  Thank  you,  Violet,"  said  the  Hermit  simply.  "  In 
that  we  make  a  true  peace." 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  a  blur  to  Moira.  She 
went  through  it  vaguely,  sometimes  seeing  Eva, 
sometimes  Dennis,  who  hovered  near  her,  his  face  full 
of  boyish  sorrow. 

They  flashed  home,  and  there  were  plans  to  be  dis- 
cussed, for  Eva  wanted  to  go  back.  Moira,  smiling, 
explained  that  on  her  part  she  did  not  want  to  seek 
more  fortune,  as  she  was  going  to  marry  the  Hermit. 


328  Three  Girls  and  a  Hermit 

But  the  Hermit  said  that  as  he  had  waited  so  long 
for  a  wife  he  thought  he  would  like  one  at  once,  and 
suggested  an  immediate  marriage,  and  finishing  the 
season  here  in  another  house,  "  and  with  little  Kathleen 
with  us,"  he  said. 

Kathleen  looked  up  thoughtfully.  She  said,  after  a 
pause,  that  they  need  not  bother  about  her,  for  she  had 
been  asked  to  stay  at  Carrickdown. 

Unmoved  by  a  burst  of  sisterly  wrath  and  quick 
reminders  that  Donough  Moroney  had  no  sister, 
Kathleen  stroked  her  chin,  and  then,  as  the  flow  of 
words  subsided,  remarked  that  she  was  nineteen. 

The  Hermit  said  severely  that  he  did  not  know 
what  young  Moroney  could  have  been  thinking  of. 

"  He  said  I  wouldn't  kill  so  many  hounds  if  I 
always  rode  his  horses,"  observed  Kathleen  meekly. 

"  Do  you  mean  he  wants  to  marry  you  ?  "  burst  out 
Moira. 

"  He  said  it's  the  only  way  he  could  manage  it," 
said  Kathleen  placidly. 

A  sudden  light  dawned  in  Moira's  eyes.  They 
flashed  triumph  upon  the  Hermit. 

"  Then  it  has  been  a  success  after  all,"  she  cried. 

"  Oh,  I  perceive,"  he  said  sadly,  "  that  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  criticise  the  wisdom  of  your  idea."  But 
he  smiled  contentedly. 


THE   END 


Printed  by  Hazell,  Watson  <&•  Viney,  Ld.,  London  and  Aylesbury,  England. 


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